Chapter 167 The Missing Minutes

Chapter 167 The Missing Minutes
Cassian's POV

The wheels of Oliver's wheelchair came to a stop outside the specialist's office.

"You're making that face again," Oliver said.

"What face?"

"The one you make when you're expecting bad news."
I looked at him. "I'm just waiting for the doctor."

"Sure."

The door opened before I could answer.

"Oliver Thorne?" Oliver pushed his chair forward, and I followed him inside.

Dr. Aris greeted us, checked the file in his hands, and began the examination. He tested Oliver's reflexes, his grip, and his upper-body strength. Oliver's arms were strong from his rehabilitation exercises, but when the doctor tested his legs, nothing had changed. They remained completely still.

Dr. Aris sat back on his stool and closed the folder. "Oliver, I need to ask you something about the day of the accident. Did you take any prescription medication or supplements before the game?
Anything from the locker room?"

I frowned, stepping forward. "What does that have to do with a hockey injury?"

Dr. Aris looked at me. "I've been re-examining the neural scans from the night he was admitted. The trauma from the collision on the ice was severe, but the specific pattern of the damage suggests that we shouldn't assume the collision was the only cause."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Oliver's initial lab results showed an unexplained substance in his bloodwork," the doctor said. "It is a compound that directly impacts coordination and slows neurological reflexes. When a substance like that is in the bloodstream during a high-impact physical collision, it leaves the body vulnerable. I cannot determine how it entered his system, but it would have affected his coordination before the hit happened."

I stared at him, my mind blank. "A substance? Like what?"

"I don't know," Dr. Aris said. "But we need to know what he ingested."

"I've never taken anything like that," Oliver said. He looked completely bewildered. "Dr. Aris, I don't even take aspirin. The only thing I had that entire night was my usual water bottle during the first intermission."

"Are you certain?" Dr. Aris asked. "Nothing? Nobody gave you anything? No energy drinks?"

"Nothing," Oliver insisted. "I had a sandwich at three o'clock, and I drank from my bottle during the break. That's it."

Looking into my brother’s eyes, I knew he wasn't lying. He genuinely didn't know what had happened to his own body. A cold feeling started to replace my anger.

We finished the appointment, and I pushed Oliver's wheelchair back out into the hospital corridor. My hands were trembling against the rubber handles.

For months, my anger had been simple. I had been entirely focused on one question: Who ruined my brother's life? I had pointed all that rage at Asher Carter, believing he tampered with my brother's gears.

I had followed him, hated him, and threatened him because I saw him in the locker room. I was completely certain he had done something to cause the crash.

But now, that certainty was breaking apart.
The doctor’s words didn't completely fit the story I had believed. If Asher had done something, did he tamper with the water bottle instead of the gear? Or was someone else entirely in that locker room while we were out on the ice?

I went back over the game in my head. I remembered Oliver coming back onto the ice after the first intermission, his movements looking slightly different. At the time, I thought he was just tired from the game.

He had been blinking repeatedly and rubbing his eyes before the whistle blew. When I asked if he was okay, he told me he was fine.

I tightened my grip on the wheelchair. I still suspected Asher, but the anger was turning into a quiet doubt. I needed to go back to the beginning and find out exactly what happened during those few minutes before the impact.