"Hold on!" Confusion clouded Alick's mind. "You're in Clouland?"

"Yeah." Willie's voice held determination. “Got an urgent matter. Where are you at? Coming over pronto."

“The plane, with you and Mr. Johnston aboard, went down in Dumpson. Here, we're hunting for both of you."

“Hurry back," Willie urged, fretting.

“iihat's the fuss about?" Alick puzzled.

"Complicated. Save the chat for later," Willie suggested. "Just return. Mr. Johnston isn't in Dumpson."

"And where's he now?" Alick pressed.

“Just make haste—" During their exchange, the signal faded, rendering them unable to communicate.

After ending the call, Alick briefed Camila and Forrest, "Mr. Johnston might be alright. Willie was the one who phoned."

"Really?" Camila's excitement was palpable.

Alick affirmed, "Let's head back. He told me that Mr. Johnston isn't here."

Camila's spirits lifted, hopeful. "Quick, let's move."

Her haste led to a stumble. Her ankle, swollen, protested as she collapsed.

Approaching, Forrest inspected her ankle. Spotting the swelling, he gingerly prodded it, worsening her discomfort. She grimaced.

"You're straining your bones." He met her gaze. "You can't take it if you keep walking so much to look for Isaac. You must pay attention to yourself, too Brushing off his concern, Camila stood. "No biggie. Let's roll. I won't crumble."

Her eagerness to reunite with Isaac eclipsed any concern for her injury.

“If you hobble to the car like that, you'll either cripple your foot or make it worse. Let me carry you," Forrest offered, squatting.

Camila waved him off.

How could she burden Forrest?

He hadn't rested all night.