Broken Hands

112. Frail Damien

Raymond's pickup truck rumbled to a stop inside the castle grounds, the heavy gates closing behind them with a deep, mechanical groan. Grayson shoved the door open, stepping out, only to feel his knees wobble beneath him. A wave of lightheadedness hit him, making him pause.

Too many pills? Not enough food? Maybe both.

"Gray? You good?" Raymond asked, his eyes flicking to him with mild concern.

Grayson clenched his jaw and forced himself to straighten. "Yeah. Sat for too long," he lied, slamming the truck door shut before stepping away.

His mind churned with everything—his plans, the files, the missing pieces of his past. His gaze drifted toward Senior Smith's private garden, the little sanctuary hidden away behind rows of hedges and stone pathways. He needed to talk to the man. Avoiding him wasn't an option anymore.

Gregory, the butler, approached with his usual composed demeanor. "Mister Grayson, your cousins are awaiting you in the tea space with Mrs. Benedict."

Tea space? What even was that?

Grayson exhaled through his nose, debating whether he had the patience for whatever this was. But then again, anything was better than being left alone with his thoughts. He gave a small nod and followed Gregory's lead.

As they walked, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out, glancing at the screen.

Eddie.

Grayson's heartbeat stuttered just slightly before he opened the text.

"Champion! Your bike is ready. Are you?"

A photo popped up—a sleek, black motorcycle with bold red flame decals and a skull design near the engine.

Deadly.

A rush of something dark and electric ran through him. Excitement? Fear? He couldn't tell anymore. His fingers hovered over the keyboard before he finally typed back:

"More than ready."

It was almost a lie. He knew damn well his head wasn't in the right space to be on a bike, let alone in a high-stakes race. But he still had time. The tournament was days away. He'd pull himself together by then—one way or another.

They approached the tea space, a small, open-air canopy wrapped in trailing vines and surrounded by an explosion of colorful flowers. It looked straight out of Alice in Wonderland.

Seated at a round table were Julian, Russell, and Bluey, the kitten curled contentedly in Julian's lap. But Grayson's attention was immediately drawn to the unfamiliar woman sitting across from them.

She was old—her face lined with deep wrinkles, her sharp eyes framed by small, circular glasses. She wore an elegant black gown, old-fashioned, with lace at the collar, and held a delicate fan in one hand, waving it lightly. In front of each person sat a dainty teacup.

Gregory stepped ahead, bowing slightly as he announced Grayson's presence before retreating.

Julian beamed. "GRAY! You were gone for ages!"

All eyes turned to him, including the woman's. Her dark eyes widened slightly as she took him in.

"Oh, dear Mary," she whispered, almost to herself. Her fan flicked faster, her gaze studying him like he was something out of a storybook. "That's him, isn't it?"

Russell grinned. "Yep. Grayson, hop in. Mrs. Benedict's been dying to meet you."

Grayson hesitated. Something about the way she looked at him made his skin prickle with unease. But he forced himself forward, slipping into the seat beside Russell.