The arena was quiet.
Lucas lay crumpled on the cold floor, completely still. His limbs were limp, his chest barely rising and falling with shallow breaths.
His eyes were shut—unconscious. No twitch. No reaction. No awareness.
Just silence.
Mr. Grayson stood a few feet away, arms tightly crossed, his jaw clenched so hard the muscle near his temple twitched.
He stared at his son for several long seconds before muttering under his breath.
"Idiot."
His voice echoed in the empty training center.
He stepped forward. The barrier had dropped when Halden left. As he entered the arena, the silence remained undisturbed. Lucas didn't move. Still trapped in unconsciousness.
Mr. Grayson crouched beside him, staring at his own flesh and blood like he was looking at a stranger.
Then, his voice low and trembling with more than just anger, he spoke.
"You useless little brat…"
No reaction. No flinch. Not even a change in breath.
