Soon, Mr. Cheney's driver had delivered Lilac Serval to the hotel.
All the way, she hadn't rested much, with her heart in her throat, unable to settle down.
Her fingers were tingling with soreness and pain, and she furrowed her brows slightly, rubbing her temples.
The rain roared down like a dense net, overwhelming and leaving her breathless.
Upon entering the room, she brewed herself a cup of black tea and kept calling Sylvan Cheney.
She didn't know how many times she had called, but finally, around 9:30, she got through.
"Mr. Cheney."
"Hmm."
The voice on the other end was tired and dull; it was deep as usual, but his exhaustion was clearly audible.
Even, this fatigue was mixed with weakness and a sense of helplessness.
"Where are you? Have you found Miss Yale and Yolanda Fern?" Lilac Serval asked anxiously, sensing something was off in Sylvan Cheney's tone.
"Still searching."
