Amira's POV
I never imagined my journey would lead me here—a cold, stark cell with bare, concrete walls and a single, barred window that offered a meager slice of gray sky. Just yesterday, I was recovering from the accident, my broken arm nearly healed and slowly regaining strength. Today, I found myself behind prison doors, a twist of fate that seemed as cruel as it was surreal.
The cell was small and unadorned, the silence oppressive. I sat on a metal bench that felt uncomfortably cold against my skin. Every movement in my nearly healed arm sent a dull reminder of what I'd endured, and I couldn't help but trace the faint scar along my wrist—a scar that, like the events of the past few weeks, seemed to mark me indelibly.
