The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 647

Chapter 647 Shattered Tokens Of Hope

Chapter 647 Shattered Tokens Of Hope

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The day he had departed the manor, Julius slipped a sandalwood bracelet strung with pale–green jade beads onto Quinn’s wrist.

He did it for one reason only. To keep his wife and child safe.

Now those beads, once warm against her pulse, were dredged from the ocean in scattered, salt–soaked fragments.

Mixed with them were shredded scraps of camouflage cloth and a drenched holster still gripping a pistol, the metal slick with brine.

Every piece belonged to Quinnie.

“Mr. Whitethorn,” one of the divers ventured, “are these her belongings?”

Before the operation they had been briefed in detail–what Quinn wore, what gear she carried–so none of the crew truly doubted the answer.

Even so, protocol demanded they hear confirmation from the man who loved her.

They only wanted Julius to seal the grim truth aloud. Julius lurched toward the heap, dropped to his knees, and, with a hand that trembled violently, traced the seawater–slick beads as though they were the curve of

her cheek.

Julius knew better than anyone that these belonged to Quinn.

Why must you come to Yarburn? Why would you drag yourself into the ring to confront my father, his wrath, his empire? Is it merely because a license calls us husband and wife? If that paper never existed, would you have been spared this nightmare?

Slowly, he crouched on the drenched planks and hunted for the stray pieces, fingers sweeping through saltwater and grit until only five darkened pearls of sandalwood answered the search.

He closed his fist around the five beads, knuckles whitening as though he could squeeze time itself back into place.

“Mr. Whitethorn, please, don’t lose heart,” one of the rescue divers murmured. “We’re still within the seventy–two–hour golden window. Mrs. Whitethorn still has a chance.”

The words had barely settled when Julius shot to his feet, his chair skittering away. His pale hand snapped around the diver’s throat, steel disguised as flesh. “What do you mean she merely has a chance?” Julius thundered. “She is alive–do you hear me? She is still alive!”

The diver’s face purpled; his fingers clawed hopelessly at Julius‘ wrist.

Nearby crew rushed in, but those long, elegant fingers held like rebar, refusing to yield so much as a

breath.

Julius looked half–mad, the gold in his hawklike eyes drowned by a spreading red haze.

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Chapter 647 Shattered Tokens Of Hope

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Gavin barreled across the deck and slapped Julius hard enough to twist his head sideways. “Snap out of it!” he barked. “Do you plan to land in prison before you find Quinn? You think she wants her husband branded a criminal?”

The frenzy drained from Julius‘ eyes like floodwater slipping back to sea. He unclenched his

Gasping, the diver stumbled away, one hand on his bruised neck, putting as much distanc between himself and the Whitethorn madman.

No one on the deck had imagined that a few misplaced words could invite a brush with death.

ible

Julius lowered his gaze to the five seawater–stained beads in his palm. “Yes. She is straight as an arrow,” he whispered, eyes fixed on the dark pearls. “Her husband cannot become a criminal.”

“Rest for a moment,” Gavin urged. “You have not closed your eyes in two days. Do you mean to collapse before we find her?”

Bruises still bloomed beneath Julius‘ collar, half–healed gashes lined his ribs, yet he refused to leave the boat. For forty–eight hours, he had haunted the deck, scanning the dark sea.

Sometimes he stood at the rail for entire afternoons, motionless.

Julius looked down at the sandalwood beads in his hand.

“Quinn is waiting for me to find her,” Julius said softly. “How can I rest? I have to reach her fast.”

At that moment, Gavin felt the man’s life draining away, as though the ocean were siphoning it away. If they did not bring Quinn home, Julius might simply follow her into whatever abyss had swallowed her.

One day passed. Then two. Then three. The fabled seventy–two–hour/window shut like rusted jaws. A week rolled by–then two, then three. Hope bled from every face until only a grim shadow remained. With nothing found, even the bravest murmured the word none dared say: unlikely.

Even the hardened operators of the Falcon Special Forces–men who had sworn Quinn could break any trap–now moved through the makeshift command post beneath a pall so heavy it felt like storm clouds pressing on their chests.

Raymond buried his face in his calloused palms, voice cracking through his fingers. “It’s my fault–every bit of it. I never should have left Captain Bridger alone!”

Laurence laid a steady hand on Raymond’s shoulder, trying to anchor the man’s spiraling guilt. “This isn’t on you. Given the chaos, if you hadn’t pulled Laura and Julius out, none of the four of you would have made it.”

Yet guilt continued to gnaw at Raymond’s ribs like a stubborn, rusted saw.

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