Heedless of the closing door, Cang stuffs his pockets with coins and gems. He doesn’t slow to check their vintage or cut, merely fills pouches with riches. He’s already entirely occluded from the rest of the gang’s sight.
Shyan grabs up Cang’s prybar and wedges it lengthwise to keep the door from closing. The heavy stone strains against the iron bar and the sustained pressure begins to put a bow in it. Then a creaky voice addresses her, saying, “Clever, Shyan, disciple of Davit. He would be so proud.”
The colour drains from her face as she urges Abia and Fassn to enter ahead of her. Lip trembling, she follows behind, and soon, with a great rush of air and a cacophonous rumble, the stone door shuts, and the wings of blackness enfold the gang’s meagre lantern, leaving them in the dark.