Chapter 29The Archives of the White TowerThe darkness did not break with the morning light; it simply shifted from the cold gray of the riverbank to the oppressive, ancient dampness of stone walls that had stood for a thousand years. When Laila dragged herself back to consciousness, the first thing she felt was the heavy, dull thud of her heart, followed immediately by the agonizing, throbbing heat in her forearms. Someone had bound her arms with tight, rough linen splints, but the bones were still misaligned, every slight movement sending a jagged spike of white-hot pain straight to her skull.She was sitting on a stone floor, her back against a curved wall of thick, sweating granite. The air was freezing, thick with the scent of damp straw, saltpeter, and the unmistakable, suffocating odor of ancient wolf blood that had dried into the masonry over centuries. High above her, a single, narrow arrow-slit let in a pencil-thin beam of gray light, showing the dust motes dancing in the d
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