ANNABEL'S POV
As Dawson clutched his bleeding nose, I gasped and rushed to Thomas, grabbing his hand. "Whoa, whoa, calm down," I urged, concern etched on my face. "Are you alright?"
Thomas, still seething with anger, shot a fierce glare at Dawson. "One more word, Dawson, and you'll be losing a tooth. Watch your mouth."
Dawson, now sporting a devilish grin despite the blood staining his hand, chuckled. "Oh, beautiful Annabel, you didn't ask me how I was. I would have gladly spared you the theatrics."
I shot a disdainful look at Dawson, my grip on Thomas's hand tightening. "Save your jokes for someone who cares, Dawson. We're here for information, not your dramatic flair."
Thomas's tension, though, didn't waver. The air crackled with suppressed aggression as Dawson wiped away the blood
