"Well, I do have a taste for win-win situations." And if it all goes to hell, well, she has a better chance of escape than most of them. She won't abandon the crusaders while there's still a good chance of anyone else getting out alive--what a waste it would be, to come all this way only to find her efforts to tweak Deskari's nose thwarted by a reputation as a deserter--but she won't throw her life away on foolishness, either. 

That settles it, then. 

Lusilla turns in early. Getting enough sleep is important for spell recovery, and she's jittery and nervous enough that she expects it to take a while to get to sleep. 

(The idea of asking Ember or Dànpiàn for a Slumber occurs to her only after she's already situated and more than a little ways towards sleep and getting up seems like way too much of a hassle.)

They emerge from the secret tunnel into some kind of basement storage area. Not the same one they emerged into from the Shield Maze. When this is all over they should probably audit the Grey Garrison's basement real hard for any additional secret passages. 

Once they emerge into the relatively open basement space, the members of the Order of the Flaming Lance present arrange themselves into a triangle surrounding everyone else. 

"I hope the ritual works..." one of them mutters. 

"It has to," Klaem says grimly. "There's no room for error." 

They perform the ritual. It seems to take no time and hours at once; not because it has any innate time-warping effect, but just because of the anxiety of listening intently in case some demon or cultist chooses an inopportune moment to stumble into the room and raise the alarm. 

But it finishes, and everyone inside the area circumscribed by the ritualist gets the effects of Haste. 

"It worked! Praise Iomedae!" the nervous ritualist from earlier exclaims. 

"Now it's the demons' turn to suffer," the third one says with dark satisfaction.