The mansion was silent, but it wasn’t peaceful. It was the kind of silence that comes after a collaspe and near death experiences.
Daniel Warren sat in the center of the room, in his custom black wheelchair, hands clasped so tightly the veins in his forearms bulged. His jaw hadn’t unclenched in hours.
Across the hall, behind guarded double doors, his son lay under soft white lights.
His breathing is regulated and his monitors steady.
The doctors had finally delivered the words he’d been waiting for. “He will be fine, Mr. Warren,” the neurosurgeon had said carefully. “The swelling is under control. We’re only waiting for the anesthetic to wear off.”
Daniel had stared at him for a long moment. “You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
The doctor had swallowed. “We’re not wrong
