Charles' voice suddenly rang out from behind, sharp and commanding enough to snap a few people out of their murmurs.
Rad turned his head slightly, panting, his teeth gnashing audibly.
"You should go to a hospital," Charles continued firmly, his golden brows furrowing. "Get your hand treated before it gets worse."
Rad's breathing grew heavier, his glare wavering as he glanced once more at his ruined hand.
His shoulders trembled, his pride and fury battling against the excruciating pain.
Finally, with a reluctant nod, he turned away from Riley, his head lowered, as if avoiding the gazes that burned into him from all directions.
He started walking, cradling his broken hand against his chest.
The whispers of students followed him immediately, hushed but piercing.
Charles' eyes, however, narrowed slightly as they followed Rad's retreating figure. Slowly, he turned toward Riley, his sharp gaze locking onto him like a predator sizing up prey.
