ANNABEL’S POV
In the dimly lit prison yard, Lombard's erratic movements seemed like a dance with shadows. Special forces struggled to contain him, their expressions a mix of caution and concern. Thomas and I observed from a distance, his hand on my shoulder offering silent reassurance.
"Something's seriously wrong with him," I whispered to Thomas, my eyes never leaving Lombard's distressed form.
Thomas nodded, his gaze reflecting a blend of sympathy and worry. "We need to find out what happened."
As we approached Jezebel, who was seemingly composed despite the chaos, I couldn't help but feel a surge of anger at the role she played in this unfolding tragedy. "What did you do to him?" I demanded, my voice cutting through the tension.
Jezebel met my accusatory gaze with a calm demeanor.
