How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 814

Jarrod stood by the window, his expression clouded with worry as he looked down at the chaos unfolding below. Elodie was still missing—no one had found her yet.

And with others circling like sharks, he knew he had to tread even more carefully now.

He turned to Fleming, who was working intently at the console ahead. “What brings Mr. Mercer here?”

Without pausing, Fleming replied, “Esmeralda asked me to come in and look for Ms. Thorne. I thought she might be with you.”

Jarrod’s heart sank.

Clearly, Elodie was still nowhere to be found.

“I haven’t found her yet,” he murmured, eyes dropping to the wedding ring on his finger.

Fleming continued, “I’ve already searched both the west and south wings—no sign of her. Which way did you come in, Mr. Silverstein?”

This area wasn’t all that big, but with the ongoing chaos and people trapped everywhere, finding anyone was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

Jarrod frowned, deep in thought. “So we covered different directions.”

Fleming glanced at the map, then added, “She wasn’t alone—there were locals with her, all colleagues, evacuating as a team. Finding one person is hard, but a whole group should be easier. Yet, we haven’t heard from any of them.”

Jarrod’s gaze sharpened. “If it was a team, they should’ve checked in with headquarters by now. The silence makes this far more complicated.”

If it were just Elodie, maybe something had happened to her alone. But for a whole team to vanish? That spelled something much more serious.

With so many people, it shouldn’t be this difficult to find at least one.

Unless…

His eyes darkened. “Is it possible they’re not even here anymore?”

Fleming paused, considering it. He’d gotten word half an hour ago—the military had already been dispatched to aid the search, but so far, they’d found nothing.

Given that, Jarrod’s theory was starting to sound more plausible.

The landline inside the house was useless—no outgoing calls allowed.

The car wasn’t locked, so she quietly opened the door and ducked inside. For several tense moments, she groped under the back seat, fingers finally closing around her battered phone.

The screen was cracked, but she barely noticed. She tried powering it on—once, twice, three times before the screen flickered to life.

Her heart leapt.

The display was barely usable, half the screen a blur of colored lines. Still, she immediately turned the brightness to its lowest setting.

A glance at the signal bars showed a single, flickering notch—weak and unstable. But it was hope.

She was about to pull up the satellite locator, and check if her last known coordinates had been sent, when a voice suddenly rang out behind her.

“What are you doing out here?”

A chill prickled up her spine. The phone’s screen was so dim, she prayed no one had noticed the faint glow in her hands.