Broken Hands

98. Imposing

The day had been long—exhausting and emotionally draining for everyone, but even more so for Grayson. He was going to have to retake his exams, and honestly, he couldn't wait to just be done with everything Durham threw at him.

Grayson collapsed on his bed, yanking at the tie around his neck like it was suffocating him. Finally, he felt like he could breathe again, but relief wasn't fully there. Not with the weight of Antoine's near-death still hanging over his head. Was Antoine okay? Was he holding up? And then there was Goldman. The guy was in real trouble, all because he'd stepped up to help.

Hawthorne—strict, cold, and somehow worse than Damien—wasn't about to let that slide. Goldman was under Hawthorne's guardianship, and no doubt, the man would come down hard on him. Goldman didn't deserve that. He seemed like a solid person, and Grayson was grateful for his help.

As soon as Grayson shut his eyes, the image of Antoine slipping played like a cruel movie in his mind. Only this time, in his imagination, he didn't catch Antoine. This time, Antoine fell—just like the kid from fifteen years ago.

The door creaked open, interrupting his dark thoughts. Grayson didn't move at first, but when he lifted his head slightly, he saw it was Russell.

"You look like you ran a marathon," Russell remarked, stepping further into the room.

Grayson dropped his head back on the bed, groaning softly.

Russell walked closer, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed. "So, what did you do this time?" he asked, his tone friendly but with a playful edge.

Grayson hated that question. He wasn't looking for trouble—it just seemed to find him. He exhaled sharply and, in a voice heavy with sarcasm, began listing:

"Defied a supervisor. Broke out of the exam hall. Ignored protocols. Dragged a prefect into the mess. Outran the school staff. Ignored warnings. Got to the rooftop. Talked a kid out of jumping. Talked back to the headmaster. Disrespected him. Taught an adult their job. Almost got expelled. Had Uncle Lex defend me. Got detention and kitchen duty. And now..." He paused, gesturing vaguely, "...now, I'm just waiting for the final judgment from Mr. Consequences."

Russell blinked, surprised, before letting out a low whistle. "A kid tried to—"

Grayson cut him off with a nod. "Yeah. Antoine."

Russell's expression darkened as he crossed his arms. "That's... I mean crazy, he looked okay!"

"I know." Grayson's voice was flat, and he slipped his hands behind his head.

"Durham's scary," Russell said after a beat. "You should be getting hailed as a hero, not getting punished."

Grayson scoffed with a hint of exhaustion. "Durham's blind to reality. Hawthorne? He's the worst."

Russell pressed his lips into a thin line, clearly mulling over what Grayson had said. "Dude, sorry," he said finally. "You should chill. You've had a rough day. Just... get it off your mind. You look grim."

Grayson didn't reply at first. His gaze drifted to his desk, where his pill bottle sat. "Pass me the bottle, please," he said quietly.

Russell hesitated but reached for it, handing it to him.

Grayson sat up slowly, poured a few pills into his palm—more than the prescribed dose—and swallowed them dry. Then he grabbed the jug of water on the nightstand, poured himself a glass, and drank it in one go.

Russell watched, his concern growing. "You okay, man?"

Grayson set the bottle down on the nightstand and turned to Russell, brushing off the tension. "How was school today?" he asked casually, like nothing had happened.