Everyone in the corridor saw it happen.
Bright's spatial foresight tracked every moment—the mandibles closing, the flesh tearing, the systematic dismantling of human body into component parts.
Duncan witnessed it peripherally while engaging his own threats, his expression hardening with horror he couldn't afford to process.
Mara saw it directly, her dual blades faltering mid-strike as she watched a squadmate—someone she'd fought beside—get consumed alive.
Bessia knelt beside Kora's remains, her hands glowing with useless plant energy, her healer's instinct screaming that she should have done something, should have saved her, should have—
There was nothing I could do, Bessia's rational mind insisted. The injuries were too severe. The attack too sudden. She was dead the moment the first ant grabbed her.
But I should have—
There was no time for grief. No time for processing. No time for the human response to witnessing a group member's horrific death.
