The guards led Kyle down a winding spiral staircase, deeper into the base of the white tower. The fancy floating lanterns faded away, replaced by simple brass torches mounted on damp stone walls.
They stopped at a heavy iron-bound door. One of the guards pulled a brass key from his belt, unlocked it with a heavy *clack*, and pushed it open.
"Get inside," the guard said, his voice flat under his helmet. "Food will be brought down shortly. Stay put."
Kyle didn't argue. He stumbled into the room, and the heavy door slammed shut behind him. The sound of a heavy latch sliding into place echoed through the small space.
The room was basic—a small cot with a scratchy wool blanket, a wooden washbasin, and a single high window barred with thick iron. It was cold, but it was quiet.
Kyle practically collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The mattress groaned under his weight.
'Snow,' he thought, closing his eyes. 'Are we safe for now?'
