"Dylan!"

It was the first time Mrs. Ferguson ever called him by his full name, her fury so sharp she nearly lost her balance.

Dylan spun his wheelchair around, ready to leave without another word.

Mrs. Ferguson, shaking, waved over the nearest person, her voice cracking with panic. "What are you standing there for? Go find him! Now!"

She knew Dylan too well. If he said he'd do something, he'd do it no matter the cost.

She'd thought he was just being impulsive, never imagining he'd actually risk his life.

Quickly, she made another call. "Restore the deleted security footage. Give everything to Aiden."

With that done, she drained her cold tea in one gulp. All her usual composure and careful scheming disappeared in that single moment.

Meanwhile, Aiden was still frustrated, unable to find any trace of the missing footage. Then, out of nowhere, the entire set of surveillance videos landed on his desk in less than three minutes.

But whoever took Clara had planned it well. It'd been late at night, and the road to the temple was chosen for a reason-there were no cameras anywhere along that stretch.

No more

stream of cars on the

traffic cams up there. And look this way too-that's all wild hills, about ten kilometers from the temple. These cars didn't come back for a

was, no one could say yet. The truth was still

*

three days, not hearing another word about Clara. She finally let herself

she always did, just to check in. It was a habit—one that had kept

Ferguson's

"Tara, dear."

Should I come by the house

still rattled. After everything with

said he'd die for

think of any other

since Dylan left,

anything-so detached he almost seemed like a robot, never

she remembered a time when Dylan used to laugh all the time, when he was warm and kind to everyone. She didn't know

his brother, thinking the weight of it had just shut him down She didn't pry-after all, someone in his position didn't need extra feelings

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