As he stood there, Yves felt the weight of history bearing down upon him, a chilling echo of past events he wished he could undo.
"Sir, please wait here. I will go with the guards and see—" Lucas began, attempting to dissuade the blond from entering the desolate warehouse.
"No! I'm not going to let that bastard Tristan toy with me any longer!" Yves vehemently interrupted, forcefully pushing Lucas aside as he exited the car. "I will kill him with my own hands!"
However, their entry into the warehouse revealed an empty space, devoid of any presence except for Skylar's motionless form.
He lay sprawled on the cold, grimy floor, hands and feet bound, his shirt torn in disarray.
"Dylan!" Yves cried out, rushing toward the curly-haired figure without a moment's hesitation.
Frantic with worry, he didn't even pause to address the boy by his true name as he cradled his body, trying desperately to rouse him. "Dylan! Are you alright?! Answer me, Dylan!"
