Three months later, just as Yvonne Sutton was starting to lose hope that Wyatt Shaw would ever contact her.

Then, early one morning, he suddenly sent her a message: *Yvonne, the sunrise here isn’t beautiful at all.*

Yvonne Sutton stared at the message, stunned for a long moment before she came to her senses and quickly called him back.

She made it a video call. To her surprise and delight, he answered almost immediately.

On the screen, Wyatt Shaw’s hair was a mess. He was much tanner and thinner, his face covered in scruffy stubble. He wasn’t looking at her but gazing into the distance, his eyes vacant and lost.

The first word that came to her mind when she saw him was: ruined.

He was like a pile of rotting leaves, of wild grass—already dead, devoid of life.

"Wyatt," she called out.

He didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the distance.

Yvonne Sutton called his name again, but he remained unresponsive. She forced herself to calm her racing heart. Then, she heard the sound of waves coming from the phone, like a furious roar.

"Wyatt, I want to see the sunrise, too. Can you show me?" she asked.

This time, he responded, turning the phone’s camera around. The screen filled with the image of the ocean. At the horizon, a golden sun was bobbing as it rose.

Yvonne Sutton quickly took a screenshot and immediately forwarded it to Silas Rhodes, asking him to find out where the location was.

"Wyatt, you know I’m waiting for you at home, right?" she said.

"I’m sorry." His voice was dry and hoarse.

"I know you’re in trouble. We can face it together."

"I’m sorry."

"Am I still your wife?"

"I’m sorry."

"Wyatt, stop saying you’re sorry. Just tell me where you are. I’ll come find you."

A long silence hung on the other end of the line. Yvonne Sutton’s heart clenched painfully. It had only been a few words, but she knew Wyatt Shaw’s condition was bad—very bad. He was probably on the verge of breaking down.

"Wyatt!" Her voice was tinged with panic.

"I don’t know where I am."

"Think hard."

"I don’t know where this is. I’m lost. I want to come home, but I can’t find the way. Yvonne, please come take me home."

"Okay, I’ll take you home. Don’t panic, and don’t be afraid. Just wait for me, alright?"

"Okay."

After that one word, the call disconnected. Yvonne Sutton tried calling back, but the phone was already off. ’The battery must have died,’ she guessed.

Just then, her phone rang. It was Silas Rhodes.

"I found it. He’s in Porto Luna."

Two days later, the two of them were on a plane to Porto Luna.

After landing, they went straight to the beach where Wyatt Shaw had been.

It was an unnamed beach, and with the rain, there wasn’t another soul in sight. Yvonne Sutton stood for a long time beside the rock where Wyatt Shaw must have sat. ’What was he thinking that day, watching the sunrise?’ she wondered. ’He was all alone, wasn’t he? He must have been so lonely.’

"Yvonne, I’ve already put people on the search for my uncle in the city. I’m sure we’ll have news soon."

Yvonne Sutton nodded. "I want to stay here a little longer."

"Okay, I’ll stay with you."

The rain grew heavier, but Wyatt Shaw never appeared.

Back in the car, Yvonne Sutton gazed out at the ocean. Under the thick, dark clouds, the water roared and churned, like a savage beast threatening to swallow the world whole.

A sudden thought struck her. ’He was crying out for help that day, wasn’t he?’

They searched Porto Luna for half a month. Yvonne Sutton went to the beach every day, but he never came. Then, one evening, Silas Rhodes got a lead.

A local contact took them to an old part of the city, saying someone had spotted Wyatt Shaw there.

"This place is a real mixed bag. I won’t go into detail about how messy this particular block gets, but let me just say this: if someone curses you out or hits you, don’t fight back. Even if you get stabbed, the only thing you should do is run."

The contact was a local. His words were vague, but Silas Rhodes and Yvonne Sutton understood the implication.

In short, it was a gathering place for all sorts of riffraff. Gangs were packed in tight, and turf wars were common.

"See that bar up ahead? My guys have seen him going in and out of there," the contact said, pointing. From the outside, it looked like any other bar in the area: covered in lewd graffiti, surrounded by filth, with provocatively dressed men and women milling about. A blast of throbbing music surged out every time the door swung open.

Yvonne Sutton stepped on something. She glanced down, then recoiled in disgust, her brow furrowing.

Silas Rhodes took a deep breath, then turned to Yvonne Sutton. "Yvonne, you should wait in the car. I’ll go in alone."

"I’m coming with you," Yvonne Sutton insisted. Silas Rhodes was worried for her safety, but she was just as worried for his. This wasn’t Aethelgard; it wasn’t The Rhodes Family’s turf.

Silas Rhodes considered for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, we’ll go in together. But we’ll just do one lap. If we don’t see my uncle, we get out immediately."

"Alright."

Their contact didn’t go in with them. As he put it, he belonged to a different crew. If he went in, they’d probably think he was there to stir up trouble.

The two of them reached the entrance to the bar. A bouncer sized them up for a long moment before giving a mocking smirk and waving them inside.

The moment they stepped inside, a tidal wave of sound washed over them, pulling them into a world of neon lights and debauchery.

Everything inside was chaos: the music, the decor, the people. They did their best to remain inconspicuous, weaving their way through the crowd.

The space was divided into booths, but none of them had doors, so they could peer into each one as they passed.

At one point, Silas Rhodes bumped into a drunkard. The man’s face twisted into a snarl, but before he could get angry, Silas quickly shoved a wad of cash into his hand. That seemed to placate him.

They proceeded with even more caution. As they reached another booth and peered inside, they saw a Black man smash a liquor bottle over the head of a white man who was kneeling on the floor.

CRACK! Shards of glass and a spray of blood flew through the air.

The white man crumpled to the floor, but the Black man wasn’t done. He jammed the jagged remains of the bottle into his victim’s stomach.

Yvonne Sutton clapped a hand over her mouth, her body trembling uncontrollably.

Silas Rhodes, terrified himself, grabbed Yvonne Sutton and started to pull her away.

"Wait! It’s Wyatt! I see Wyatt!"

Wasn’t that Wyatt Shaw, sitting right in the middle of the black sofa, a bottle of liquor in hand, drinking straight from it? He was wearing a loud, patterned shirt, his hair was a mess, and his face was covered in stubble, but even among this crowd, his features stood out.

Overjoyed, the two of them rushed in. The other people in the booth stared at them for a second, then broke into laughter.

"Well, look what we have here. Little cuties, daring to just waltz into a place like this."

Yvonne Sutton ignored them, her eyes fixed on Wyatt Shaw as she screamed, "Wyatt! Wyatt! It’s me! I’m here for you!"

But even after she shouted his name several times, Wyatt Shaw didn’t react.

Anxious, Silas Rhodes started to push his way forward. But in the next instant, a huge Black man grabbed him and hoisted him up, pressing a knife to his face.

"Fuck, you lookin’ for trouble?"