The sky had begun to shift from deep black to a soft charcoal grey, the first hints of dawn creeping over the horizon. Jim knew time was running out. By six in the morning, the guards would change shifts—if they were still inside the White Tower by then, their escape would be doomed.
With Eliza draped across his back, her unconscious form weighing heavily on his shoulders, Jim carefully descended the spiral stone staircase leading to the fifth floor. His breath was steady but laboured, each step echoing faintly against the cold walls.
Down below, Jill and Gristie had already stirred. They had been resting, regaining what little strength they could after the fierce battle, but the sound of approaching footsteps set them on edge.
Jill, ever watchful, nudged Gristie and whispered urgently,
