Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 118: Lyre: Maybe I Need to Blow Him

LYRE

I’m slouched in the only chair in this depressing motel room that doesn’t look ready to collapse, scrolling through my Divinity App while Jack-Eye makes significantly more noise in the shower than any one person should. The constant drumming of water hitting tile makes a surprisingly tolerable white noise—not that I’d ever admit it. There’s something satisfying about the rhythmic sound of someone else cleaning off the day’s grime that doesn’t involve me lifting a finger.

I have another direct message. Third one today. People are far too interested in what I’m doing, which means every step I take is going to be analyzed for Balance, damn it.

[CHAOS: Feels like the old times, doesn’t it, Witchlet?]

I snort. He’s been unusually talkative lately, which never bodes well. When Chaos gets chatty, worlds tend to crumble. Or at least have very bad days.

My thumb pauses over a new notification, pulsing red at the top of my screen.

[PLAUSIBILITY WARNING: EXCESSIVE INTERFERENCE IN REGION 23-BETA. FINAL STRIKE.]

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Not this again.

Excessive interference detected in Region 23-BETA. Current manipulations have exceeded Plausibility Threshold by 417%.

Timeline strain now approaching rupture tolerance.

You are hereby issued a FINAL WARNING for deviation from ordained narrative progression.

Further unsanctioned alterations may trigger Purge Protocol: Soft Reset.

—Divinity Connect Oversight Engine, Axis Protocols Enforcement Division

"Yes, yes, I know," I mutter, thumbing the warning closed with more force than necessary. "Balance can suck my—"

stop, staring at

known we’d be racing against divine bureaucracy, I would’ve handled this differently, made sure I was alone. I could track down our target myself and be done with this in hours, and the hit probably would have been

do as I want, I’ll trigger divine

something

crawl. Memory resets, localized timeline alterations... Grace might wake up with no idea how she got into a camper with

handle paradox

the power of a dying flashlight. He’s barely at five percent of his capacity, and ambient charging of his arcana channels

The sudden silence is

my phone, my upper lip curled in frustration. The kiss I planted on Thom earlier gave us three hours of decent tracking before

I need to blow

"Wh—what?"

sound of Jack-Eye’s voice. Guess he’s done showering. "The wizard. He’s down to fumes, and I need more from him. I’d rather not lose

stretches long enough that I

water dripping from his hair down his chest, a motel towel hanging so low on his hips it’s practically performing a disappearing

he finally mumbles, his

twice. "Why

opens again. "I, uh... forgot my clothes

mattress—the one I’ve already claimed, my bag sitting at

"That’s my bed."

The one that’s

fumble through excuses, and they never get any better at

one hand gripping the back of my chair as he leans down slightly.

Lyre... if you have needs, you don’t have

is dominating alpha, but

him like an archaeologist who’s just unearthed a particularly confusing artifact. "And who else here can process arcana, Beta Aaron Xhekaj of the Lycan Pack? Can