Donovan, Lynn, and the inquisitor had been descending beneath the Church's headquarters for several minutes, down a spiral staircase carved into the rock.
The place was cold, damp, and barely lit by a few torches stuck into the walls. Every turn looked identical to the last, and after so many, Donovan no longer bothered to count them.
The staircase just kept going down.
And down.
The only constant sound was the metallic clanking of his armor, its echo lost both above and below them.
"Hey, how much farther?"
"Not much now, sir," the inquisitor replied without turning around.
Donovan went down another full turn.
"And now?"
"Almost there, sir."
Another turn.
"Almost there how much?"
"A little more, sir."
"You said that five minutes ago."
"And it was true five minutes ago, sir," the inquisitor replied with admirable patience. "It's just that now there's a little less to go."
