The Outcast: Michael Grey's Rise to the Top

Chapter Three: Ariana Grey

By the time Michael’s father returned home from work, the house had already gone quiet. Michael had retreated to his room, shutting the door behind him without a word.

William Grey stepped inside and exhaled slowly as he set down his tool belt beside the window. He was a tall man, still handsome in that timeless Grey family way, but his face bore the signs of decades spent working too hard and carrying too much. Exhaustion had carved soft shadows beneath his eyes, and his once-dark hair was now flecked with silver.

He didn’t expect to hear much noise. The only people who lived here besides him were Michael and Ariana, and neither of them had much to say these days.

Climbing the stairs, he paused when he heard a door open at the end of the hallway. Michael appeared, his expression as unreadable as ever. William had stopped trying to change that years ago.

“Hey, Mike. How’s it going?”

“Well enough,” Michael replied. “How’s the site? Any progress?”

William gave a tired shrug. “Some. The crew’s getting restless with how long the Kramer house is taking, but we’ll get it done. Eventually.”

Michael nodded and glanced down at the white plastic bottle in his hand. His father’s eyes followed the motion—and widened.

“Michael. Is that—?”

“You’ll wake Ari if you keep shouting,” Michael cut in, his voice firm but low.

William lowered his voice to a whisper, caught between alarm and disbelief. “How did you get that?”

“We’ll talk later,” Michael said. “I need to give her the dose.”

William looked like he wanted to press further, but then he just nodded. Michael gave a short nod in return and walked past him to the door across from his own.

His hand hesitated for only a moment before he knocked once, then gently pushed the door open.

The room inside was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a small lamp in the corner. A quiet stillness hung in the air. His gaze found the familiar shape beneath the covers—small, fragile, and still. His expression softened, the ever-present edge in his eyes giving way to something quieter.

She was the one person in the world who could reach that part of him.

Ariana Grey, or Ari, as everyone close to her called her, lay asleep, her breathing faint but steady. Even pale and tired, she was beautiful in that way some people just are—naturally radiant, a softer mirror of Michael’s features with one key difference. Where his hair was dark like their father’s, hers was a bright blonde, the only one among them to carry the iconic Grey coloring.

Michael crossed the room slowly and sat beside her on the bed. He brushed a lock of hair from her forehead, then cradled her head gently in his arms. With practiced care, he lifted the bottle and helped her take two pills, whispering softly as he did. They had done this routine so many times that even in a half-conscious state, her body responded to the motion.

He stayed with her for a while after, letting his fingers trace slow circles on her back as she drifted into a deeper sleep. He watched her, wishing—desperately—that there was more he could do. This, these quiet moments and carefully timed pills, felt like nothing in the face of what she was going through.

It hadn’t always been this way. Ari had once been the most vibrant person he knew. Just a year younger than him, but always bolder, louder, more alive. She had a laugh that could fill a room and a stubbornness that could outmatch his own. She had been the one dragging him out of his shell when they were kids, chasing him through the house, teasing him into smiles when no one else could.

She had been his light.

And now that light was flickering.

Two years ago, everything had changed. The diagnosis had come with quiet devastation. Levine’s Disease. A rare condition first identified decades ago by Dr. Alfred Levine. At first, the symptoms had seemed minor—fatigue, dizziness, occasional disorientation—but the real damage was happening deep inside her cells. The disease caused her mitochondria to work overtime, burning out her body from the inside. Slowly. Relentlessly.

There was a treatment. A proper one. But the cost was beyond anything they could afford. Even with Michael’s side jobs and William’s backbreaking labor, the price tag was laughable.

So they had turned to a lesser option. Another expensive drug—just not impossibly so. It couldn’t cure the disease. All it did was slow it down. It dulled the activity in her cells, buying her time in pieces, delaying the inevitable.

Michael stared at the now half-empty bottle in his hand. That’s where most of today’s money had gone. And he would keep doing whatever it took, however dangerous, to make sure she never went without.

For Ari, he would steal from the powerful, lie to his father, and put himself in the line of fire a hundred times over.

Because if he couldn’t save her, then what was the point of anything else?