Broken Hands

154. Your choice

"We're here, sir." The driver's voice broke the silence as the car slowed to a stop in front of the gate.

Grayson nodded, opening the door and stepping out. He reached back for his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder before strolling through the gate. The sun was still high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the garden, which bloomed with the fresh scent of morning air. The estate looked untouched, its perfection undisturbed, but Grayson barely paid attention.

Behind him, the car pulled away, tires crunching softly against the pavement. His grandfather had sent him home with a personal driver, something Grayson hadn't even commented on. It wasn't surprising. Senior Smith did what he wanted, and Grayson had learned not to question it.

As he walked up the driveway, he took quick note of the cars. Alex's wasn't there. Damien's was parked on the side, its black exterior gleaming under the sunlight, sleek and polished as always.

Inside, the house was quiet.

Russell must have left for physical therapy. He hadn't been able to come with Grayson to the castle because of his online lectures. Julian should still be at school. And normally, Damien wouldn't be home either.

But silence wasn't always a good thing.

Grayson had long figured out that Damien preferred dealing with him when no one was around—when there were no interruptions. Those were the moments when the air would tighten when words felt heavier, and when Grayson felt like a rat trapped in a cage.

He moved silently to his room, eager to freshen up. After a quick shower, he changed into a black sweater and shorts, the comfort of the fabric barely registering.

Settling in at his desk, he flipped open his laptop. His research list wasn't long—just a collection of places he needed to visit, and mysteries he needed to solve. But he wasn't going to attempt anything yet. Damien would find out, and if that happened, this might spiral into something else entirely.

A notification blinked in the corner of his screen.

His gaze flicked to it. A new email.

He hovered the mouse over the subject line before clicking it open.

It was an acceptance letter. Bethel University.

The email was formal, and structured in the usual way: Congratulations, Grayson. We are pleased to inform you of your acceptance into Bethel University...

He scanned the words without really absorbing them. The excitement most people felt when receiving something like this didn't come. It was just an email. Just a university.

Indiana was far. That was good.

His fingers moved automatically as he forwarded the email to Alex and Damien without adding a word.

Business. That was the course he had picked. It was the one on the top of the list when he checked, so he chose it. Simple.

Grayson stood, stretching slightly before heading to his bed. He sat in the corner, pulling up his knees, and reached for the novel Senior Smith had lent him.

"Reading is therapy," the old man had said. "You can learn a lot."

Grayson wasn't sure about the therapy part, but he followed the advice anyway.

The bold title stared back at him. Fight or Die.

He resumed where he had stopped. The pages filled with war, soldiers battling against the enemy, and every line tense with survival.

Then, he felt it. Eyes on him.

His fingers tightened slightly around the book as he looked up.

Damien.