Chapter 334: A Smooth Departure from Aston
Night fell. The late autumn wind carried a biting chill, sweeping up the withered leaves along the street.
The streetlight outside the police station cast a hazy, dim halo of light. Beneath it stood three exhausted figures.
After rushing around all day, they had finally gathered here.
Isla Griffith had vanished into thin air, leaving no trace or valuable clues. Even the police could only offer that they were "temporarily unable to determine her whereabouts."
Those few light words landed like a heavy boulder on their hearts.
Wren Sutton’s eyes were swollen and red, the whites shot through with blood.
She had cried several times today, her initial hysterical sobs giving way to silent tears.
Her tears had long run dry, leaving only a deep, inescapable exhaustion and heart-wrenching pain in her eyes.
She clutched the hem of her clothes, her knuckles white from the force. Her thin shoulders slumped, her back losing its usual straight posture. An oppressive, inescapable sorrow seemed to cling to her very being.
Every breath was heavy with helplessness. It felt as if something was lodged in her chest, making it hard to breathe.
She didn’t dare to think about Isla Griffith’s current situation—her body still recovering from a miscarriage, all alone. The helplessness and pain must be immense. But Wren could do nothing. She could only watch as her best friend disappeared, completely powerless.
Adrian Lancaster had just finished speaking with the police, a heavy, unshakeable gloom etched between his brows.
His heart ached as he looked at Wren Sutton, who was barely holding herself together beside him. He pulled her into his arms, shielding her from the howling night wind with his body.
His broad palm gently patted her back again and again. No words were needed. The silent gesture alone was enough to soothe her frayed emotions, his eyes filled with heartache and helplessness.
Sean Sterling stood in the shadows at the very edge of the lamplight.
A full day of frantic searching had drained all his strength. His hair was a mess, his eyes were bloodshot, and a blueish stubble shadowed his jaw. His usual confident, spirited demeanor was gone, replaced by utter dishevelment and despair.
His hands, hanging at his sides, were clenched into tight fists, his knuckles white. His fingertips dug so deeply into his palms that he couldn’t feel the pain.
The police’s words, "There are currently no leads," echoed relentlessly in his mind. Each word was like a thousand-pound hammer, smashing down on his heart.
The panic, self-blame, and pain that had been building all day finally erupted, no longer possible to contain.
"Why? Why can’t we find her?"
Sean Sterling suddenly spoke, his voice hoarse and broken, thick with a sob he could no longer suppress.
The next second, he clenched his fist and slammed it violently against the nearby lamppost.
THUD!
The dull sound was jarring in the silent night, startling birds from their perch on a distant branch.
A sharp pain shot through the back of his hand. The skin was red and broken, oozing blood. But this pain was not even a ten-thousandth of the agony tearing through his heart.
He threw his head back and let out a heart-wrenching roar into the heavy night.
"Isla, where in the world are you?! Please come back! Come back to me! Don’t leave me."
His roar was so full of despair and collapse that it seemed to make the very air tremble.
Sean Sterling’s shoulders shook violently. Without warning, tears streamed from his eyes, tracing paths down his cheeks before splashing onto the cold ground.
"I’m useless. I couldn’t protect you. I let you suffer so much."
He buried his head, his voice so choked with sobs it was barely audible as he blamed himself over and over.
"I’m sorry, Isla. I’m so sorry. I let you down. I didn’t protect you... I didn’t protect our baby."
He curled in on himself like a lost child abandoned by the world, consumed by boundless despair and fear.
He didn’t dare to imagine what he would do if Isla Griffith vanished for good, if he never saw her again. How could he possibly go on living?
Seeing this, Adrian Lancaster frowned and spoke in a low, firm voice to talk some sense into him.
"Sean Sterling, calm down. Don’t do something stupid like hurting yourself."
"If you fall apart, who’s going to find Isla Griffith? Who’s going to bring her back?"
"The police are still investigating, and our people haven’t stopped searching. The moment we get a single clue, we’ll go. You have to hold on. You can’t just give up."
Wren Sutton watched Sean Sterling break down. She covered her mouth to stifle her own sobs as a tidal wave of sorrow crashed within her.
...
Isla Griffith had been driving for nearly the entire day on winding, rugged, low-speed country roads. Her body had reached its limit of exhaustion.
The dragging pain in her lower abdomen never ceased. Cold sweat soaked her clothes, dried, and then soaked them again.
She didn’t dare get out of the car or enter any shops, terrified of being recognized.
When she was hungry, she gnawed on bread. When she was thirsty, she drank mineral water. She forced herself to stay conscious and press onward.
Luckily, she didn’t encounter any checkpoints along the way. Like a forgotten speck of dust, she silently left Aston, following the secluded country roads.
Finally, the country road before her leveled out. Whitewashed walls and black-tiled roofs appeared on either side. Wisps of smoke curled up from chimneys, carrying the faint, fragrant scent of cooking food...
Isla Griffith snapped back to her senses and hit the brakes. The car slowed to a stop on the side of the road.
She looked up. On a stone marker, weathered but still clear, was the name: Avenia.
This was Wren Sutton’s mother’s hometown, the place where Wren had lived as a child.
Her best friend had mentioned it to her more than once. Avenia was a place of beautiful scenery and simple, honest people. It was free from the clamor of the city and the complexities of social politics—a place where one could find peace of mind.
Isla Griffith had never imagined that her aimless escape would lead her here, completely by chance.
Perhaps it was a subconscious reliance. Knowing this was where her best friend had grown up, she felt a faint sense of security, even though she was all alone.
The wind outside carried the fresh, grassy scent unique to the countryside. It blew in through the car window, seeming to wash away some of Isla Griffith’s exhaustion.
She leaned back against the seat and slowly closed her eyes. Listening to the faint sounds of barking dogs and distant voices from the town, she embraced this rare moment of peace.