Aaron Sinclair couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"No, this is impossible."
He shook his head repeatedly, then grabbed his father's other hand and pushed up the sleeve. The wrist was just the same.
Celeste Grant saw it too. It was too late for Javier Sinclair to hide it.
Celeste Grant's gaze was now fixed on his arm, the smile gone from her face. She reached out with a pale face and clasped his hand, feeling her own hand tremble. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with disbelief.
"How could this be?"
Her voice was a mere whisper.
Her expression turned agitated as she looked at him.
"Javier Sinclair, tell me! What happened to you?"
Celeste Grant turned sideways and tore open the front of his robes, baring his chest and abs. His torso was the same—covered in cracks.
It wasn't just Celeste Grant. Her son, Aaron Sinclair, stared at the cracks on his father's body, the color draining from his face as well.
"Dad, what's happening?"
