We were "guests" of the White Tower, a title that carried the heavy, suffocating weight of a death sentence. Our suite was a masterpiece of psychological manipulation—a gilded cage where the walls were crafted from a translucent, living pearl. The surface rippled and shifted in colour, bleeding from a soft violet to a restless crimson based on our heart rates and moods. Even the furniture was unsettling; the beds felt like sleeping on a cloud, and the food materialized out of thin air, tasting with haunting accuracy like our most cherished memories. It was a world designed to erode the will to fight.
"We have to get out of here," Killian said, his voice a low, dangerous growl. He paced the perimeter of the room like a caged predator, his boots silent on the shimmering floors. "I can't f
