Elder Allen's brow furrowed at the sight of Davis' arm swathed in fresh bandages.
"Hurt?" he asked, his voice low but edged with worry.
"A scratch," Davis clipped, brushing it off as though it were nothing. He had no intention of making the old man anxious.
But Elder Allen's sharp eyes narrowed, lingering on Davis long enough to show he didn't believe a word of it.
The silence between them was telling. He knew it wasn't a scratch. Still, he let it slide, knowing Davis would never willingly explain how he got injured or where he had been.
"Grandpa, you don't have to worry," Davis said firmly, trying to ease him. "Why are you still awake?" he added, hoping to deflect.
Elder Allen shrugged. "Just waiting for you
Davis sat up properly. "Is there any problem?" he asked warily.
"Just a little problem," Old Man Allen answered.
