Chapter 772:
At that exact moment, Rylie appeared, catching sight of the spectacle. The corners of her lips curved, and she burst into laughter, unable to restrain herself.
Deandre shot her a look sharp enough to kill, yet when he realized that it was his sister, his expression shifted into one of wounded grievance.
“Your friend treated me like a garbage bin, and you just stand there laughing?”
“She’s still just a girl, Deandre. Let it go,” Rylie said, suppressing another laugh. “I’ll have someone escort her back to the hotel.”
“Leave it. I have to change anyway. I’ll take her myself.”
Deandre scowled, slipping out of his fouled suit jacket and draping it over his arm before scooping Melany into his arms.
As he strode off, Rylie called after him, “Remember, Deandre — she’s with me.”
“I’m aware,” he answered, pausing for only a breath.
Confident that he understood, Rylie said nothing more and returned inside.
Within the restaurant, a waiter reached for the remote, switching the screen from its lighthearted program to the news. A breaking report at sea was being delivered by the evening anchor.
A fishing boat carrying thirty fishermen had been stranded for eight hours near the sea border of the Kingdom of East Islet, caught in sudden, severe weather. Fierce winds and towering waves threatened to tear the vessel apart at any moment.
Commanded by Brad, a naval rescue ship had entered the waters to assist, yet progress was hindered both by the raging weather and by tense complications with the Kingdom of East Islet.
The report gripped the entire nation, stirring deep concern for those caught in the storm.
Kyla remarked, “No wonder he rushed off this morning. So it was because of that fishing boat stuck at the border.”
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Zander, noting her offhand tone, asked, “Mr. Morgan’s a friend of yours, right? Aren’t you worried at all?”
“What reason is there to worry? He’s faced worse before. This is just a routine rescue mission. I’m certain he’ll succeed and return safely,” Kyla replied with unwavering confidence, her gaze fixed on the TV as she sought to reassure Rylie. “Don’t worry, Miss Owen; everything will be fine.”
Rylie offered no answer. She listened intently to the weather report, her brow gradually knitting tighter.
From her understanding of naval operations, helicopters would be unable to reach waters this perilous, yet a warship could withstand even the towering fifteen-yard waves. If Brad had still not given the command to rescue, there had to be other obstacles in play.
Meanwhile, inside the command room of the warship, Brad stood before the storm-tossed sea, his expression as cold and unyielding as the waves themselves.
The situation was proving far more complicated than he had foreseen.
From the warship’s command room, Brad stared out at the raging sea, his face carved in stone.
The crisis had grown far messier than he had expected.
The distressed fishing vessel Everswell lay stranded at the contested border between the two countries. The unyielding storm had battered its signal into a faltering, unstable pulse. Though Brad had ordered the fleet to surge forward at full speed, they lost communication with the ship thirty minutes before entering the surrounding waters in a desperate bid to rescue it.
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