Chapter 97: The case of Asena
Clyde Du Pont stood at the foot of the hospital bed, his tall frame casting a shadow over the silver-haired boy lying asleep beneath the sterile white sheets. His pale blue eyes were sharp and unblinking as they studied the boy’s delicate features as if trying to mould the same one himself.
The boy’s face was ghostly pale, his lips cracked from dehydration, and his silver hair, slightly tousled, spread over the pillow. Clyde’s gaze bore into the young man’s face, searching for the resemblance.
An IV line was in his right hand. Clyde’s gaze lowered to the bandage around the burn on his left hand, which clearly had dictated the placement. Most patients had their IV placed in their non-dominant hand, but not this one.
Clyde’s fingers tightened around the wooden prayer beads on his wrist. He tugged them absently, his mind filled with questions and mysteries.
He looked familiar, and at the same time, did not.
Was he related to Asena?! The question popped into his head the moment he saw the silver-haired boy outside of the car.
He hadn’t left, instead, he had stared at the boy being helped into the car, writhing in pain but too proud to let out more than a groan. The resemblance was there in the boy’s posture.
And that was why he now stood here like a warden, watching the boy with scrutinising eyes.
He knew he had become weak, remembering anything related to her.
"What’s his name?" Clyde asked, his voice quiet but commanding.
Emile flinched at the sound, nearly dropping the bottle of water he had been sipping from. He blinked rapidly and looked at the bed. "Micah..." he muttered, then frowned, forehead creased in concentration as he thought hard to remember the family name.