50. Empty bottles

281 19 1
                                    

Grayson sat stiffly in his desk chair, the faint creak of the old wood echoing in his small room. His focus was locked on the advanced math formulas sprawled across his notes, each line of equations a challenge he couldn't afford to fail. Mr. Pendleton, relentless as ever, had buried the class under a mountain of assignments, each more complex than the last.

He scribbled down a potential solution, his pen digging into the paper while his thoughts raced. The sound of cautious and firm footsteps in the hallway caught his attention, Russell. A hesitant knock filled his eyes and he did not bother answering. The door creaked open, and Russell slipped inside, his presence both familiar and unnerving.

"Hi, Grayson. Busy, I guess," Russell said, his voice tentative, like someone testing thin ice.

Grayson gave a curt nod, forcing down the flicker of irritation.

Russell shut the door behind him, leaning casually against it. "Can I have a look at it?"

Grayson's shoulders eased slightly. He'd been bracing for another confrontation—a follow-up to whatever Julian had told Russell. A fight was the last thing he wanted tonight.

"Sure," Grayson replied, sliding the sheet across the desk.

Russell moved closer, peering over his shoulder. "Wow," he said, his tone tinged with awe. "Mr. Alan said we'd get to this next week, and you're already diving in?"

Grayson shrugged, still gripping his pen.

Russell grinned, snatching the sheet and plopping on the floor beside Grayson's desk. "Want me to try? Who knows? Maybe I'll crack it. Savanna would be so jealous."

At her name, Grayson's ears pricked up. "How's she doing?" he asked, trying to sound indifferent.

Russell didn't miss the shift in his tone. He scanned the assignment sheet in his hands before glancing up. "She's good. But you shouldn't keep quiet on her. She's our friend, Gray. You need to text her, call her—something. Go visit her, even."

Grayson tensed at the suggestion. It felt too sudden, too bold. "I will," he muttered, though he had no intention of following through. It had been too long. She was probably mad at him.

Russell's expression softened as he allowed the silence to grow, then his lips parted, his eyes still on the sheet. "You know I didn't snitch on you, right?"

Grayson didn't bother looking at him. "Bullshit," he muttered.

Russell raised a hand, mock-serious. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

Grayson finally looked at him, skepticism etched across his face. "So the adults just magically found out? Psychic visions? Ancestor whispers?"

Russell shook his head. "Julian pieced it together, First, Amber called him. She was worried about you—about the gang. Then you were missing, and Julian found out about the note, he panicked. He didn't want history repeating itself, so he told Alex. And, well... Alex told my dad."

Grayson frowned at the mention of Amber. "Amber?"

"Yeah," Russell said cautiously. "Don't be mad at her. She was trying to help."

Grayson forced himself to nod, his expression unreadable. Inside, anger seethed. This was exactly what he'd been trying to avoid—Amber and Aiden knew too much about his dark side and a mistake like this could be disastrous.

Russell's voice broke into his thoughts. "Grayson, we're not trying to make things worse for you, we do what we do because we care and we don't want you getting hurt again."

Grayson inhaled sharply, his grip tightening on the pen. "Did you think about the consequences? Did anyone stop to think what exposing me would do? Next time, tell Julian to think before he acts. And make sure he listens."

Broken HandsWhere stories live. Discover now