He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 150

The rain relentlessly poured down.

The sky was a crushing, suffocating black that blanketed the entire primeval forest.

Yorath stood directly in the downpour, staring straight ahead.

His sharp, chiseled features were pulled agonizingly taut, his lips pressed into a bloodless line.

The black umbrella was useless against the deluge; massive drops hammered his shoulders and rolled down.

Soaking straight through the fabric clinging to his rigid spine.

He stood there, unmoving, as if he couldn't feel the freezing cold biting into him.

Jevon snatched an umbrella from one of the bodyguards and tilted it entirely over Yorath, instantly getting soaked himself.

"Your injuries haven't healed yet! You can't be out in this weather! Get in the tent, we'll coordinate the search from there!"

Yorath completely ignored him, pulling out his phone to mobilize more search units.

The storm was too violent; drones and thermal imaging were completely grounded.

The entire production crew was missing, all signals dead.

Every single rescue unit had to plunge blindly into the rain to search.

"She's not stupid," Jevon urged desperately. "The second that landslide hit, she definitely bolted faster than anyone. We just have to wait out the storm. Once it clears, the thermal drones will find her in minutes."

Yorath stepped into the command tent, grabbed a dry towel handed to him by a guard, and haphazardly wiped his hands.

He turned to Jevon. "Hire every civilian rescue squad available. Anyone who steps foot in that mountain gets ten thousand a day. I'll cover the cost of all damaged or lost gear. Whichever team finds her gets a one-million bonus per man."

Money makes the world go round.

Three days later, civilian rescue teams flooded the mountain.

Combined with the official responders and Yorath's private forces, over a thousand people were combing the woods.

On the fourth day of her disappearance, the rain finally stopped.

The drones took off.

Yorath, still recovering from severe injuries, had spent days sleeping rough in the freezing mountains, running a persistent low-grade fever.

Elian administered a fever-reducing injection into his arm. "Nyssa called to check on you. She's really worried and wants to come out here."

Yorath rolled his sleeve down, smoothed out his jacket, and pushed through the tent flap without a word.

Jevon scoffed behind him. "Tell her not to come. It's freezing, damp, and the terrain is hell. She's way too delicate for this."

He scanned the faces one by one.

He reached the very back and still hadn't found her.

"Who's in charge here?" he demanded.

The director, who was already strapped onto a stretcher, weakly raised his hand. "I am."

Yorath loomed over him, an absolute monolith of authority.

The director was completely swallowed by his shadow. The sheer, suffocating pressure radiating from him made the man instinctively shrink back.

"Where is she?" Yorath asked.

"The landslide hit in the middle of the night," the director stammered. "Everyone was running for their lives. No one had time to check on anyone else."

"I will ask you one more time. Where is she?"

His voice was terrifyingly calm, dripping with lethal intent.

The director swallowed hard, trembling as he pointed a shaking finger at a nearby camera.

"That camera... I mounted it at the highest point. It recorded everything that happened the exact second the mountain collapsed. You... you can see for yourself."