Broken Hands

135. Medical analysis

Julian strolled down the street, a cup of coffee in hand, as the sun dipped lower on the horizon. The evening was settling in, bringing with it the quiet hum of the city winding down. Another sleepless night. He had had so many that he lost count, but he prayed—really prayed—that everything would finally fall into place.

Maybe it already had.

Things were better. They had all suffered so much. Russell was still unconscious, and Grayson was still missing—but at least they were close to finding him, thanks to that call.

It had come out of nowhere, an unknown number flashing on his screen. At first, he almost ignored it, but something—some gut feeling—told him to pick up.

It was Amber.

She had sounded frantic, her breathing heavy, almost like she was running. The background noise was chaotic, static cutting in and out as her voice spilled over the speaker in a rushed panic.

Grayson—hurt. Very hurt. NOVEA. Bimini. Warehouse. Those were the words he retained.

Julian's heart nearly stopped.

He barely had time to ask how she knew, how she had even found Grayson. She just kept talking, her voice wild and desperate.

"You guys gotta come for him! You gotta call the cops! Heck, your uncle's a cop—get to him fast!"

Then the line went dead.

Julian had so many questions, but no time to ask them. How the hell did Amber, who had vanished without a word, suddenly know where Grayson was? How did she know he was hurt?

What it really amber? It had to be her. She had called him by his name.

His first instinct was to call Damien. The second he answered, he could hear the shift in his tone—urgent, sharp, focused. Then Julian had called his grandfather at the hospital. The old man hadn't even sounded stunned by the news—just agreed.

And then he had waited.

Now, walking in silence, Julian sucked in a breath and reached into his sweater pocket to feel his phone. Nothing. No buzzing, no calls, no updates.

God, please don't let this be a joke.

"Did you get the coffee?"

Nora's voice broke through his thoughts.

Julian paused, then glanced down at the cups in his grip, as if just remembering they were there.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, Dad said without milk. Got it," he said.

Nora nodded, and they fell into step again, their footsteps muffled against the pavement as they headed toward the hospital.

After a long moment, she spoke again.

"Julian." He glanced at her once as they walked.

"You don't have to worry so much. They'll be fine. Russell will pull through, and Grayson will be found, okay?"

Julian nodded, a quiet, almost automatic motion. She told him that every day. And every day, he held on to it because he didn't want to believe in anything else.

The holidays were supposed to be great. Instead, he had spent them worrying, waiting, and trying to reach his cousins telepathically.

It was terrible. And he was still anxious about what might happen next.

They entered through the hospital doors and into the waiting room. The nurse informed them that the doctor was inside Russell's room, running some tests. Julian's stomach did a flip. Tests? What tests? His mind raced with worst-case scenarios as he sat beside his mother.