Jac hops past each door, trying to catch a glimpse of what's inside. A lot of them are empty, with a few holding some witches but not the one witch that she's looking for. She makes a silent promise to come back for them, if one of the others haven't come by to do so.
But the witch skids to a halt, trying to listen over the sounds of fighting outside.
"-m in here!"
She follows the sound of Jenny's shouting to a door and stands on her toes to look through the small window in the wood. "Hey! I'm here! Um..." Jac looks up to assess the heavy wood.
The door is obviously locked and there's no time to look for a key. Each new heartbeat brings with it another thought and Jac is close to hyperventilating. "Okay, okay just... I need you to watch my back, okay? I need to concentrate."
Jac sinks to her knees so that she is eye level with the door handle. Trembling fingers touch the metal and she prays for her magic to cooperate this time. Maybe she shouldn't have been showing up for the humans and she can understand why her magic hadn't worked then, but she can't afford for that to happen again now.
A single curl of air wisps around her and she doesn't dare blink as she slips it into the lock. Her focus narrows to the mechanism itself, and she forces every bit of air she can into the opening, steadily increasing the pressure. It's a battle of wills between her magic and the metal and she can feel sweat bead at her brow until the iron finally gives with a loud thud.
The latch flips and Jennifer looks up as the doorway swings open revealing not the intimidating form of one of her captains, but the familiar silhouette of her younger cousin.
"You're here alone!?" She says? Voice more full of worry than incredulity.
The room's full of foul air, and the sigils and wards take an immediate bite from any magical energies inside, but adrenaline is now a factor and Jen starts pulling at her bindings, at the tube that's feeding a slow but steady drip of her blood into a phial. "I don't know where they all are." She growls to Jac. "I don't know how long we have..." She tries not to look at Iris, flopped and folded across the room, worn in with days and days of death etching itself into what's left of her. She wants to be sentimental, to ensure dignity, but she's too practical, too aware of the situation to have a breakdown about it. "Don't look, Jac."
