Micah and Clyde sat in the car, still deep in conversation.
Micah lowered his head. "I helped Darcy… because if I were in his shoes… I'd want someone to help me, too."
Hearing the words, Clyde's heart trembled. If souls had colour, he thought, Micah's would be pure white.
With a softened gaze, Clyde reached out and ruffled Micah's hair roughly. "Do whatever you want," he said with a small sigh. "I'll take care of everything else. I'll deal with that doctor."
Micah looked up at him, eyes wide, a bit touched. His expression melted into something gentle. "So, don't be mad at Darcy. He's a victim," he said, hoping to shift Clyde's opinion.
Clyde raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "Why are you so worried about him? Why are you defending him like this? You didn't even think that maybe he had attacked me first?"
"Yeah, right." Micah snorted. "Darcy would never be one to start a fight." He waved a hand dismissively.