Chapter 534

Outside the food stall, Percival strode ahead, car keys in hand.

"How are you getting there?" Odalys stopped abruptly.

Orson was confused. They could drive, fly, or use one of the Stewart family's helicopters, but it would require some arrangement.

"I'm arranging a helicopter. It'll be ready in about half an hour," Percival said. He paused, looking at her subconsciously. Their long time together had fostered a tacit understanding; he sensed she found his plan too slow.

Percival's lips moved slightly. "Do you have a better idea?" he asked hoarsely.

"The helicopter will take half an hour to reach the accident site. I'm afraid it'll be too late," Odalys said, her heart heavy. She hadn't known Callum long, but she couldn't stand idly by.

Orson held his breath, walking quietly. "Then what do you suggest, Odalys? We can't teleport; a helicopter is the fastest option. Do you have a better idea?"

Facing their questioning gazes, she nodded, fiercely ripping off her necklace. It fell into her hand, the ordinary chain contrasting starkly with her pale skin. Their eyes followed the necklace as she clenched it.

The surroundings plunged into darkness; the necklace emitted a golden light.

"What?" Orson stared at the light.

Odalys took Percival's hand. He moved closer, his tall frame and masculine presence filling her senses. She started to tell him to keep his distance, but he seemed to anticipate her. His broad hand encircled her waist, pulling her close.

Odalys stiffened, falling into his arms. The golden light enveloped them both, then flung Orson away.

"No!" Orson cried, the word swallowed by a "bang" as he landed hard. Pain surged through him. He groaned, realizing he was no longer outside the food stall.

He saw a dilapidated courtyard house, its gate damaged, weeds overgrown.

"Where are we? What happened?" Orson asked urgently.

He saw Odalys and Percival standing calmly beside him, highlighting his awkward tumble. He realized Percival had held Odalys close for balance. Touching his nose, he felt a pang of envy.

"I used Time Shuttle, a teleportation technique powered by my master," Odalys explained, putting the necklace back on.

Her words made Percival's eyelids twitch. He glanced at the necklace incredulously. He hadn't expected its power. No wonder Oliver coveted it so often. I can't believe she gave it to Hannah. He thought, If Hannah knew its true function, she'd be furious.

"This necklace is incredibly powerful; you must hide it well, Odalys," Orson said quickly. "Too many people have ulterior motives."

Odalys chuckled. "What? You don't want it?"

"No! I wouldn't dare!" Orson broke into a cold sweat, proclaiming his loyalty. "We wouldn't dare to covet your possessions."

"Well, if it's alright, I'll take a closer look next time," Orson added, rubbing his palm.

Percival pulled Orson to his side. "Don't look at what you shouldn't."

"What's wrong with that?" Orson started to retort, then realized the necklace's proximity to Odalys' chest. He understood its inappropriateness.

"I'm sorry, Odalys," Orson apologized.

Odalys, carefree, didn't mind. Percival checked his phone. "Callum's location is here, but the area is empty, no footprints. If he left, his guards would be with him—thirteen of them. They couldn't hide in a yard this small," Percival stated vigilantly. Orson immediately grew serious.

"But they're inside. I can sense Callum's presence," Odalys said.

They entered the courtyard. Weeds choked the space; moss covered a foul-smelling water tank. Figs had fallen from a tree, attracting birds.

They searched the dilapidated house, finding it empty and neglected. Behind the courtyard, a mist-shrouded mountain loomed.

"Odalys, is this an illusion? No one's been here," Percival said urgently. Callum's safety was paramount.

Odalys said nothing, standing before the water tank, staring intently. Percival approached, studying the moss.

"Odalys," Orson started, but Percival silenced him with a look. Orson stepped beside Odalys. Despite the apparent emptiness, Percival felt a dangerous aura approaching—an unsettling, intangible presence.