Broken Hands

101. Perez

"Hey, Gray... do you think it's going to hurt him bad?" Russell asked, his voice low and thick with worry, his eyes fixed on the emergency room door like it held all the answers he desperately needed.

Grayson followed his cousin's gaze, his own stomach churning slightly. "Yeah," he said after a beat. "But he'll get better though."

Russell nodded, but the tension in his shoulders didn't ease. "You've been there before, so... I believe you."

Grayson could see the concern etched on Russell's face, the protective edge in his tone. He wasn't just scared—he was rattled. They both were. Grayson had his own flood of questions swirling in his mind, and he knew Russell was probably drowning in the same sea of uncertainty.

How had they even ended up here? How had Julian, their little rock, landed himself in a surgical ward?

Alex had come in earlier to explain, his voice tight but reassuring: appendicitis, early stage. It wasn't catastrophic, but it wasn't nothing either. They'd have to operate to remove it. The good news was that Julian would be fine after the surgery. The bad news? He could kiss his snack obsession goodbye for good.

Grayson smirked faintly at the thought of Julian pouting about it, but even that couldn't dispel the heavy weight in his chest.

"He's never eating snacks again," Russell muttered, more to himself than anyone else, his tone like a vow.

Grayson nodded in agreement, though his throat felt tight. His phone buzzed in his pocket, snapping him out of his thoughts. He pulled it out, the screen lighting up with a message:

Hera.

Meet me outside.

Grayson sighed, rising to his feet. "I'll be back," he told Russell, who gave a distracted nod, his eyes still glued to the door.

Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, Grayson sauntered out of the waiting room and into the crisp air outside. Hera was parked in her car, the engine idling. He slid into the passenger seat without a word, closing the door behind him.

"What?" he asked, his tone curt.

Hera gave him a sharp look. "Be nice," she said with mock chastisement, pulling a cigarette from the pack and holding it out to him.

Grayson rolled his eyes. "No."

Hera smirked. "That's what I thought. Guess it's the needles that have you on edge."

Grayson clenched his jaw. "If you're talking about the lighter, just know I wasn't doing anything serious. I was messing with the flames—found it in my stuff and couldn't resist. That's it."

Hera studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable, before scoffing lightly. "How's pumpkin?"

Grayson gave her a pointed look. "You could literally walk in and check for yourself."

"I can't. I've got something to handle," she said, her tone shifting to something darker, something heavier.

Grayson's eyes narrowed. "What kind of 'something'? Is this about the guys who were after me?"

Hera took the unlit cigarette and placed it between her lips, leaning back in her seat. "Nope. They've all vanished. Like they never existed. Poof."

Grayson's brows knitted. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Picture this," Hera said, her voice taking on that maddeningly casual tone she always used when she was hiding something. "You ever watch a movie where a wild beast retreats back into the forest? What happens next?"