The heavy soundproof glass doors of the subterranean workshop corridor slid shut with a smooth, mechanized hiss, completely severing the remaining traces of Trisha's frantic, uneven footsteps from the weapon room. The air inside the forge slowly returned to its stagnant, oppressive equilibrium, thick with the suffocating smell of burning charcoal, molten Damascus steel, and unrefined sulfur.

Kabir Chauhaan didn't move an inch.