Broken Hands

109. Dark truth

Grayson lay in bed, staring up at the intricate carvings on the ceiling. The room was massive and luxurious, but it felt suffocating. The day had been long—filled with laughter, stories, and games. Russell and Julian had been over the moon, soaking in every word from Senior Smith like eager sponges. It was clear they adored him.

The man was magnetic, no doubt about it. His laugh boomed like some benevolent deity, and he seemed to have wisdom for every topic under the sun. Golf? He had tips. Poker? A strategy, Nature? He lived it. Even Julian's kitten, Bluey, had taken a liking to him, perching on his shoulder like they'd been companions for years.

But Grayson couldn't shake the feeling in his chest.

Russell had mentioned over lunch that their grandfather was sick, though no one seemed to know the details. Maybe that was why he stayed at the castle, surrounded by beauty and luxury. Grayson wondered if the man knew how much time he had left. It was a strange thought, but it lingered with him, gnawing at the edges of his mind.

While Russell and Julian hung on every word Senior Smith said, Grayson had kept his distance. He couldn't bring himself to laugh at the stories or join in the games. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the man's effort to bond with them—it just didn't feel real to him.

The man was kind, sure. He had a warmth that put the others at ease. But to Grayson, he was a stranger. And strangers weren't safe. Not in Grayson's world.

At dinner, beneath the glittering evening sky, Senior Smith had shared tales of stars and their mysteries, he talked of the wise men in the bible following the stars. Julian had asked a million questions, and their grandfather had answered every single one like he'd studied astronomy for decades. Grayson had listened in silence, letting the conversation wash over him without sinking too deep into the fantasy the man painted.

Now, as the castle grew quiet and the others slept, Grayson felt the unease twisting inside him like a coiled snake. He couldn't sleep, not with everything weighing on his mind.

"Gray, you good?" Russell's voice was low and drowsy from the next bed over.

Grayson forced a quiet, "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You sure?" Russell pressed.

Grayson rolled on his side, facing the window where the moonlight spilled in. "Yeah, just tired. Go to sleep."

Russell didn't push further, muttering something about it being a long day before drifting off.

But Grayson stayed awake, his thoughts racing.

He couldn't figure out why Senior Smith unsettled him so much. The man wasn't doing anything wrong. He was warm, funny, and genuinely seemed to care about them. Yet Grayson couldn't shake the feeling that there was something beneath the surface, something hidden. And he wanted to know, he wanted to know about his mother. Why did she leave this paradise to a crooked psychopath like Charlie?

Maybe it was just him—his own paranoia, his inability to trust anyone outside his small circle. But what if it wasn't?

Grayson clenched his fists under the covers. Deciding to think of something else.

The tournament— it was looming closer, Grayson knew he was on borrowed time. Alex and Damien would still be furious, but he'd made up his mind. He was going to that tournament. No matter the consequences.

Grayson glanced at the clock on the nightstand: 11:00 PM. He sighed softly, shifting his gaze to Julian and Russell, who were fast asleep in their beds. The soft rise and fall of their breathing filled the quiet room, but Grayson couldn't relax. Not with all those questions warring in his head.