The Southern frost

Scott ran as fast and as quietly as he could. The ice halls were bearing down upon him as though he was in a fish tank, at the mercy of the owners, and completely constrained. Once the sounds got quieter he knew he could catch a break. Hand against wall and breathing heavily, he leaned and spat out the dry mucus that had built up in his throat during his getaway. He removed his hand once he felt it starting to go numb. Behind that clear impression that he has just made on the foggy ice, he saw him. There was a man was inside of the ice.