Broken Hands

147. He has changed

The files weren't just files, as Damien had assumed. They were evidence. And wealth.

He hadn't hesitated to turn them in, sending them up the chain to his superiors. That was his job—recover evidence and pass it off for the ground teams to dig deeper. He should've felt relief. He should've thought it was over.

But with Grayson, nothing was ever over. And Damien wasn't going to make the same mistake he had two years ago.

Grayson was still holding back. Perez was a mystery Damien wasn't ready to accept at face value. And then there was Hera—the so-called mother's friend. Her name hovered in his mind like an itch he couldn't scratch. If anyone had answers, she did.

And Charlie... The bodies recovered that night? Not a single one had matched his description. That man was still out there, and Damien needed a trail.

He wasn't letting Grayson get hurt again.

The car swerved into the compound. He was here to pick up the kid. Alex had insisted—Grayson had been gone for two days now, and leaving him alone wasn't a great idea. Damien had been buried in work himself, but that wasn't an excuse. Cooling off, he told himself. That was over now.

As soon as he pulled up, he stepped out, making his way toward the private quarters. On the way, a butler crossed his path, bowing in greeting.

Damien wasted no time. "Where's Grayson?"

"With Mr. Smith, sir. In his private quarters—that's where he's been since his arrival."

Damien acknowledged with a nod.

Of course, he is.

He had other things to take care of today—a report to write, a hospital visit to make. But first, he needed to get Grayson.

His stride was sharp, precise as he passed the guards, scanning the estate. He checked the game room first. Empty. He turned toward the main house—then movement caught his eye.

Two figures stood near a pickup truck in the distance.

Damien's eyes narrowed.

The wind in this section of the estate was always calm. The kind of calm that invited people to think, to get lost in time. But Damien wasn't in the mood for reflection.

His gaze locked on his father and Grayson. The older man was loading something from the back of the pickup, and Grayson was helping him, moving with an ease that made Damien hesitate.

A small smile played on the teen's lips. Genuine. The kind Damien never saw since he got back. He listened as his father spoke.

"Always aim for the heart," the old man was saying. "It's the fastest way—saves you time and spares the animal pain. That's how to hunt gently."

Grayson nodded, his smile never fading.

Damien stepped forward.

The second Grayson noticed him, the smile vanished. Just like that, his expression locked back into that guarded mask Damien knew too well.

Their eyes met.

And just as quickly, Grayson looked away, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black jacket.

"Father." Damien's greeting was clipped, his tone colder than he intended.

He glanced at the back of the car, spotting a rifle. His gaze shifted to Grayson, who seemed to shrink even further into himself.

"Get your stuff. We're leaving." Damien's voice left no room for argument.

Grayson hesitated, looking from Damien to his grandfather.