Third Person POV
In the cold, echoing corridors of the prison, Cody sat hunched over a scarred metal desk, his hands shaking as he scribbled furiously on a stack of yellowed notepaper. His cell was cluttered with pages, each one covered in jagged, obsessive script—every spare inch filled with his looping thoughts about Julia, Ethan, and the life he believed had been stolen from him.
Day and night blurred together as Cody poured his fractured mind onto the pages. He wrote of Julia’s “beauty and fragility,” painting her as both angel and prisoner, someone he loved so deeply it hurt. He filled paragraphs with memories both real and imagined—her laughter, her scent, the way she danced across a stage as a teenager, the soft look in her eyes when she was alone. He described the basement room i
