As I made my way back towards the large, canvas tent, I spotted Jack emerging from the entrance, his expression a mix of concern and urgency as he scanned the area for me. I quickly stowed my belongings inside the tent, sensing the weight of the situation that lay ahead. Jack's voice was low and serious when he suggested that it was best to face what was coming on an empty stomach, as if he believed being unburdened by food might somehow sharpen our resolve.
Together, we strode toward the torture tent, its ominous presence looming in the distance. On entering, I was struck by the sight of Layla. She was bound tightly to a wooden chair, her struggles futile against the wolfsbane-infused ropes that snaked around her limbs, a cruel reminder of her current predicament. The air felt heavy with
