After Flynn's last class ended, he headed straight to Dylan's aunt's place, determined to follow his father's orders.
When he rang the doorbell, Jennifer opened the door almost immediately.
"Flynn? You came back?" she asked, surprised.
"Y-Yes. I'm going to talk to Dylan again," Flynn replied.
Jennifer shook her head. "He hasn't been here since last night. He left right after you did. He didn't say where he was going, and he still hasn't returned."
"I see... thank you," Flynn said, nodding before taking his leave.
Outside the building, he spotted a payphone and quickly called Jake, hoping Dylan might be with him. But Jake and Cholo were just as clueless—they hadn't seen Dylan all day.
With no leads, Flynn searched on foot. He circled the blocks around the building, checked side streets, wandered all the way toward their campus, scanning every familiar corner Dylan might go to. But everywhere he looked, Dylan was nowhere to be found.
By the time he left the last area he could think of, it was already nearing ten in the evening. With nowhere else to search, Flynn had no choice but to head home.
He walked slowly, shoulders heavy with exhaustion—frustrated, disappointed, and weighed down by the simple fact that he still couldn't find Dylan.
As Flynn walked, a sudden force slammed into him from behind. A strong arm wrapped around his chest, and a handkerchief was pressed hard over his nose and mouth. He struggled violently, twisting, kicking, and clawing at the air, but the man holding him was far stronger.
Despite the size and strength of his captor, Flynn fought with desperate energy, wriggling and thrashing. Another man moved in to help restrain his legs, but Flynn lashed out, a wild kick connecting squarely with the intruder's face before he could grab his feet.
The man staggered, clutching his mouth, a flash of blood gleaming between his fingers. Anger flared in his eyes, and he swung a fist toward Flynn, but the first man tightened his hold, blocking the attack.
"Hold it! One of the boss's orders is no hurting him. Calm down, unless you want to end up beaten yourself," the first man barked at his partner.
Within seconds, a violent wave of dizziness crashed over Flynn. Colors smeared across his vision; the street tilted like the ground itself had been ripped away. His legs buckled beneath him, fingers going numb. He clawed at consciousness, tried to fight it, but his body was giving out.
As Flynn's strength finally gave out, the two men lifted him and dragged him to the waiting car. They shoved him onto the backseat, quickly tying his wrists and ankles to keep him from moving. Once secured, the men climbed into the front seats.
Before Flynn completely lost consciousness, he heard one of the men in the front seat speaking into a phone.
"Boss, we've got him. We're bringing him to you now."
Once the call ended, the driver started the car.
Meanwhile, the other man was still grumbling, fingers pressed to the cut on his lip—the one Flynn's kick had landed squarely on.
"Damn kid," he muttered. "Didn't think someone his age could hit that hard."
The driver snorted. "Yeah, you even took a kick right to the face."
"In ten years in the military, I've never struggled with a kid," the man shot back, peeling open a bandage and sticking it over the wound. "If the boss didn't order us not to hurt him, I swear—"
"Good thing I stopped you," the driver cut in. "Otherwise I'd get dragged into your mess too."
He clicked his seatbelt, shaking his head.
"Whatever. I just got carried away. Let's go—boss is waiting."
After a few hours of driving, the two men finally arrived at their boss's location. They pulled into the parking area of a building and made a quick call to announce their arrival.
By then, Flynn was starting to regain consciousness. But before they dragged him out of the car, one of the men pulled a black hood over Flynn's head.
"W-who are you? What do you want from me?" Flynn struggled, thrashing against them.
"Stop fighting. We were just told to bring you," one of them said flatly.
"If you're after money, you won't get a single cent from me," Flynn snapped, still thrashing. His foot shot out again—landing squarely on the already-injured man's face.
The man swore, clutching his mouth as the bandage he had placed earlier peeled off, the wound reopening.
"I told you to shut up. How long are you going to make this difficult, Huh?!" the man growled, his patience snapping. He raised his fist, ready to strike, when suddenly a hand stopped him.
The man froze. His eyes widened when he saw who stopped him.
"B-Boss... y-you're already here."
"Wasn't my order clear? I said not to hurt him!" their boss snapped, his expression darkening with anger.
"Sorry, Boss... I just... got carried away. He was being too annoying. I just wanted to teach him a lesson—he's a grown man, anyway—"
Wham!
Before the man could finish his sentence, a punch connected with his face.
"I don't need your excuses. When I say don't hurt him, that means don't hurt him," the boss growled.
The man staggered to his feet, still reeling from the blow, bowing low. "Understood, Boss. I-It won't happen again," he muttered.
"Leave. I'll handle this," their boss ordered.
The two men didn't hesitate. They hurried back to their car and sped off.
Flynn remained lying on his side, unable to see anything and unable to move, his hands and feet still bound.
Even without sight, he could hear everything—the men's footsteps, their retreating voices, the tense words exchanged. The fear that had gripped him moments ago slowly ebbed, replaced by a strange calm as he recognized the commanding voice of the person they called Boss.
When he heard the footsteps stop right in front of him, he couldn't hold back.
"D-Dylan... is that you?"