?Chapter 2885:


    “Soon… just a little longer,” he murmured, trying to sound certain even as his heart ached.


    But inside him, a storm was brewing. How could he help them find him faster?


    A little whileter, Locke suddenly began to vomit.


    “What now?”


    “Is this serious?”


    “Vomiting ismon with a concussion,” the doctor said calmly.


    “Let’s observe him for the next 24 hours—if it eases, he’ll recover.”


    With that, he went in to clean up the mess himself—there were no nurses here.


    As the doctor bent over, Locke’s gaze followed him. Suddenly, he reached out and tugged at his sleeve.


    “Doctor,” he whispered faintly.


    The man straightened, startled by the child’s urgency.


    “My dad… is Ernest Flynn. Her dad is Eric Scott.”


    Locke nced at Joy and then back at the doctor, repeating it slowly and clearly.


    “Ernest Flynn… Eric Scott.”


    The doctor froze mid-motion, his expression unreadable.


    He finished cleaning up in silence, then stepped outside. Pulling out his phone, he opened a browser and typed in the names.


    His eyes widened at what appeared on the screen. He checked again to be sure.


    “Thirty-eight point two,” Hadley read aloud, lowering the thermometer.


    “You still have a fever.”


    “It’s nothing,” Eric dismissed with a faint wave of his hand.


    “I hardly feel it.”


    Hadley was about to argue when both their phones rang at once.


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    Eric’s phone lit up—Ernest was calling.


    At the same moment, Hadley’s screen shed with Ellis’s name. Their eyes met briefly before Hadley rose, phone in hand, and stepped outside.


    As she disappeared through the door, Eric answered his call.


    “Hello, Ernest…”


    “Eric!” Ernest’s voice crackled with urgency,ced with excitement.


    “There’s news about Joy and Locke! Check your messages—I just sent you a photo!”


    Eric’s chest tightened, his pulse quickening.


    “Okay!” He hurriedly opened WhatsApp.


    A message popped up from Ernest—a photo, grainy and hastily taken.


    The angle suggested it had been snapped in secret, under rushed circumstances. Yet even through the blur, the children were unmistakable—it was Locke and Joy.


    Lockey on a bed, a bandage stark across his forehead, while Joy sat beside him, holding his hand—unharmed, but clearly worried.


    “Ernest…” Eric’s throat tightened, his eyes brimming.


    “It’s them. It’s really Locke and Joy! Did you find them?”


    He assumed Ernest had taken the photo himself.


    “Not yet,” Ernest replied quickly.


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