It didn't take Avond long to reach the harbor where his father's official and favorite office was situated. The streets were mostly empty, used by larger vehicles and common city cars.
His motorbike, large in size and made for speed, had crossed the distance rather quickly, placing him at his destination when he wasn't ready to face his father yet. Regardless, he still needed to go inside, and before he did, Avond took out a cig and lit it, offering him some temporary comfort while he looked at the busyness of the harbor.
The West Torra Seaport was the largest port on the continent and in the country.
It bustled with life, a vibrant hub where towering cranes loomed over the docks, lifting massive containers from colossal cargo ships and stacking them in neat, colorful rows.
Vessels of all sizes, from tankers to tugboats, glided purposefully through the crowded waters, their horns echoing across the harbor.
Workers in high-visibility vests and hard hats moved in a choreographed dance, coordinating the unloading of goods, inspecting shipments, and securing cargo for transport as trucks and trains came and went.
The air was thick with a mix of diesel fumes, salty sea breeze, and wafts of spices, fresh seafood, and industrial materials.
Avond sucked in the rich scent of it all and felt that, regardless of better places, this would always remind him of who he was:
A Brightwell.
The image of his family emblem plastered on everything he saw reminded him that the man he would be seeing soon was not just his boss. He was his father.
Chuckling at his own nervousness, Avond entered the red-brick office of the Brightwell empire. The employees inside turned to face him, bowing ever so slightly as he made his way down a small pathway where a private elevator welcomed him.
Despite its significance, Brightwell Oceanic Lines did not look as impressive as the company's reputation. It was humbly decorated, although it offered comfort to guests and visiting investors.
This was where his father always stayed, while the administration employees worked in a larger, modern building elsewhere.
Full air-conditioning.
Unlike here, Avond thought, wondering if it was his nerves or if the building was genuinely hot.
He left the elevator and strode to a simple, unassuming wooden door, though he knew well that it was bulletproof.
Avond knocked. The door opened to reveal Erickson Brightwell sitting behind a large black wooden desk, stacked with towering piles of paperwork.
His face was sour as always, lips pulled into an unhappy frown, his blond hair slicked back, and dark blue eyes staring intensely. A long scar tugged at one side of his cheek.
Unlike the charming, smiley character he often presented to the world, this was the real Erickson—his father.
"Father," Avond started, casually standing in the middle of the office.
"Well? Where is she?" Erickson demanded without missing a beat.
"We haven't located her whereabouts yet…" Avond answered, though his words trailed off at the sight of his father's reaction.
Erickson leaned back in his massive red velvet chair, gripping the armrest with one hand and the edge of the table with the other. Avond knew his patience was thin today.
"You're standing there, telling me you can't find a girl in a sprawling city, yet you can search for a man missing for months... in Ironside… at the Brims," Erickson said, his tone low, laced with disbelief and mockery. "Is that correct?"
"I apologize for our incompetence," Avond replied quickly.
"What good is your apology when it doesn't change the situation? Have you ever heard me apologize to anyone? No. I change the circumstances." Erickson jabbed a finger at the table.
Avond wanted to say he'd seen his father on his knees, begging his mother's forgiveness while she held a wooden cutting board. But he advised himself against mentioning it—Erickson was pissed enough as it was.
"I understand, Father. Please give me a chance to find her. She must have found a hiding spot or left the city entirely. No one has seen her," Avond lied, almost stuttering at the end.
Luckily, Erickson didn't seem to notice the storm raging inside him. It felt as if he was betraying his family, a knife in his hand pressed against his father's back.
"Who is it now?" Erickson asked when a knock came from the door.
"It's your second-born, sir," Tyron said, one hand on the doorknob.
"Alright, let him in."
Avond stopped himself from rolling his eyes at the mention of Tiel. The scent of his brother's expensive cologne hit him the moment Tiel entered the office.
"Good morning, Father, Brother. So, I couldn't, for the life of me, find my runaway bride," Tiel said with bravado, placing one hand on his hip while leaning on one leg.
Erickson massaged the bridge of his nose, eyes closed.
"Two of my highly skilled, professionally trained sons couldn't find a mute, helpless eighteen-year-old," Erickson muttered to himself.
Avond glanced at Tiel, who returned the look. The brothers silently waited for their father's next command, but as seconds stretched into minutes and the older man continued reading his paperwork, they realized he wasn't going to share his thoughts.
"Excuse me, Father. If there's nothing more you'd like to say, I'll carry on with my search. But before I go... what are you going to do when we find her? And what if we don't?" Avond asked, waiting patiently as Erickson leaned back again, his eyes dark with unsettling thoughts.
"With all honesty... it is a betrayal, isn't it? And we don't take betrayals kindly in this profession. If betrayal is taken lightly, many won't think twice. This incident is no exception." Erickson's eyes glinted with malice. Avond felt his hands and feet turn cold, his lips dry. He couldn't let that happen to Celeste.
"But, Father..." Avond began. Erickson's eyes snapped toward him. "I don't mean to disagree with you, but... I'm sure Celeste had a serious reason for running away. And yes, it's a betrayal, but she's only eighteen. People do crazy things at that age."
Erickson frowned deeper.
"Hmm..." he murmured something Avond couldn't catch—a horn blew somewhere in the distance, and he cursed the timing.
"Well... I suppose you're right. She's just a child despite the law," Erickson said, scratching his lower jaw.
Avond's heart raced.
"And if we punish her, she might think it was the right thing to do. I think... some understanding can go a long way."
Tiel stared at Avond as if wings had suddenly sprouted from his back. Avond had never defended anyone before, let alone him.
Erickson glanced around the room, his closest men chuckling along with him.
"Look at you. You should ask Bernard for an apprenticeship," Erickson joked, prompting even more laughter. Bernard was his father's top lawyer.
"But there's truth in your words," Erickson admitted once the laughter subsided.
Tiel shot a look between Avond and their father.
"So that's it? No punishment?" Tiel asked, disbelief coloring his voice. "If she gets away with this, she'll pull something worse next time!"
Erickson nodded thoughtfully. Avond threw Tiel a sharp look, and his brother lowered his gaze.
I'm saving your bride, you malicious fool!!!
Avond gritted his teeth but said nothing. Erickson was still in thought by the time Avond decided maybe he should try and fake an accident. Somewhere far... watery... and deep. Cold. Very cold.
"No. We will go with Avonds' suggestion for now. I'm sure your mother would appreciate this approach once she returns from Breland." Erickson said, showing a kind of softness on his face whenever his mother was mentioned. It made him wonder about Celeste and it invited joy but then fear. It wasn't a good thing.
"And as for if we don't find her... it's easy. We take Orion instead. Isn't that good for you, Tiel?" Erickson continued.
Avond looked over to his brother, who opened and closed his mouth like a Carp fish. Tiel closed his mouth then. But something dark was brewing inside of him that he felt he needed to say something more.
"Well, I don't want to be a rat, but we are family." Avond started. Tiel shot him a surprised look. He had sprouted wings before and now he started flying.
Erickson frowned at that, "Oh?"
"I don't think it matters whether it be Celeste or Orion. The two will cause trouble. At least Celeste chose to disappear, but Orion will fight back. Which would be bothersome. The police won't do anything but once the internet gets a whiff of what's happening in our family, there's no telling what would happen next. The issue is not with the girls, it's with Tiel. Isn't that right, brother?" Avond asked, staring daggers at his younger brother. Who now looked at Avond as if he had declared war.
Tiel turned to their father, "Celeste was too sensitive! I was trying to help her find her voice and squeezed her a bit, but she misunderstood me."
Avond snorted and opened his mouth to argue, but a raised hand from Erickson stopped him.
"I don't even believe in mental illness, but even I know forcing someone who's muted by trauma with pain is only going to make it worse." Erickson said, showing a rare expression of concern for his son. It must have been like knowing Tiel couldn't count to two.
"You're right. And I am sorry. But I didn't know it was because of trauma. She just said she's scared. How was I supposed to know?" Tiel said, defending himself. Erickson leaned on his table, pressing the top of his pen repeatedly.
"I've always known your mother taught you to have heavy hands, Tiel. But I expect you to hold that hand... if you can not hold it for long, at least until the marriage certificate is finalized." Erickson said, the gaze in his eyes steady. Avond glanced at Tiel, a tightness gripping his chest.
"I think I should get going." Avond said, suddenly in a bad mood. He was exhausted, and he didn't want to be in the same room as them.
"I think you can stay a little longer, Avond... I think you have something to tell me." Erickson said out of the blue.
Avond's head snapped up at that. He stared at his father, but he couldn't tell what he was thinking.