ISSABELL'S POV
The room spins as I try to steady myself, my legs wobble beneath me like delicate tendrils barely able to support my weight. The old physician reaches out to helps me rise from the bed, a glimmer of concern dancing in his tired eyes.
But before he can led a hand the door slams open with a deafening crash, causing my heart to leap in my chest. Two guards, their faces obscured by the darkness of their helmets, storm in. The old physician stumbles back, surprise etching deep lines into his old, tired face.
"What's going on? You are not supposed to be in here!" he yells, his trembling hands betraying his show of courage. His words are met with a dismissive silence. The guards shove him aside, and his fragile figure stumbles back.
My very being tenses with apprehension as eac
