“Until one day, he ran.” His gaze drifts to the window, unfocused. “I lost track of him after that. He just … grew up.” He looks down at his hands. “Faster than he ever should have.”
I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about it. I’m grateful, of course I am. He’s risking his own peace to protect me.
But I can’t stop thinking abouthim.
How is this fair to him?
How is it right that he’s the one paying the price?
“I see him like my own son,” he says quietly. “I never saw any difference between him and … the rest.”
He exhales slowly, shaking his head. “My poor Adam.” He runs a hand through his hair, fingers catching there for a moment.
I see the guilt trapped inside him, and it’s hard to reconcile. So composed. So certain about everything else, yet completely lost when it comes to Adam.
“After years of looking, I found out he was homeless,” he adds quietly.
“What?”
“Then they found him,” he says. “The wrong kind of people.” He raises his eyes, holding my gaze. “They gave him a choice. Become a monster like them or die.”
The fraternity.
For the first time, doubt creeps in. Then again, maybe I’m wrong.
“And how do you know all this?” I ask, raising a brow. “You said you lost track of him.”
“Because eventually, I found him.”
“Then why didn’t you help him?”
“He was already too far gone. He barely spoke to me.” His gaze drops to the table. “That’s how he was after Alice died. Silent. Closed off. He didn’t ask for help. He grew up alone.”
So much guilt trapped in one man. And yet, I can’t deny how loving he seems. How careful. How deeply he still cares.
Maybe Adam misunderstood him.
Maybe he was too selfish back then to see how much Grayson cared, and still does. Or maybe Adam is just tired. Tired of explaining himself. Tired of correcting people.
Maybe it was easier to turn Grayson into another failure than to admit someone stayed or cared. Or maybe Adam simply got tired of being anything other than what people had already decided he was.
Maybe it’s easier for him to let them believe he’s something else.
Something worse.
Something they expect.
Grayson goes quiet for a moment, fingers still wrapped around his mug.
“People talk,” he says eventually.
I glance up. “About what?”
“About him. About what he became.” His eyes flick to mine. “About the rumor he built around himself.”
“What rumor?”
His eyes remain on the cup in his hand. “Bane, Bane, every mouth knows his name …”
