Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 163: Grace: What Jer Saw

My lungs burn from the effort of dashing to Jer’s scream.

Even then, I trail far behind Lyre and Owen, who have the advantage of supernatural speed.

I hate it.

Hate being human and slow when a child needs me.

These kids are vulnerable, and I’m supposed to be watching over them—what was I thinking, letting him dash off like this?

Easy: Jer was being Jer. Overexcited about the idea of taking a dog with us, even if we don’t need it and she belongs to other people. I didn’t think twice about his exuberance as he bounded off to "ask for permission". I should have.

By the time I reach the Archie and Doris’s camper site, everything’s already in motion. Broad-shouldered Owen pushes his way into the trailer first, disappearing into the doorway. Lyre, on the other hand, reaches inside and drags Jer backward, away from whatever he’s seen.

As soon as he spots me, the boy bolts from Lyre’s grip. He slams into me, arms wrapping around my waist so tight I almost stagger back. His entire body trembles against mine, his face buried in my chest. I curl my hands around his shoulders instinctively, one palm moving to cradle the back of his head.

Whatever he saw is bad. Bad enough to shake a rambunctious seven- or eight-year-old boy.

Lyre stands behind Owen in the RV doorway, peering around his bulk. She lets out a long sigh. "I knew it."

"I should have noticed," he agrees, his voice tight with frustration.

"They hid it well enough." Her tone is flat; whatever horror is inside, it hasn’t affected her. "They knew what they were doing."

My stomach knots into multiple tiny pretzels. "What’s wrong?"

voice comes

feet. Archie and Doris—the sweet elderly couple who’d welcomed us with barbecue and

Lyre says without looking back, stepping deeper into the RV

order and kneels beside us. I loosen my grip on Jer just enough

dead, Jer," Owen says, his voice calm and

his words don’t make much

blink, utterly confused.

me. "Vessels. Nothing to fear. Those within are merely absent for

I ask, still holding

think of how much to share. Finally, he says, "It’s more common than you’d think. Their

take a stroll, and pop back in. That’s not

case? Of course Owen’s not

is seriously

who sets the rules or who created the App, but I have

shakes his head violently against my chest. "No. They’re dead. I saw them." His shoulders shake harder, little

feeling in the air alerts me to a familiar approach, and I glance over my shoulder to

stirs in the breeze, tail

camper. Or maybe she does. Maybe it’s

the area before landing on the

despite

lifts his head from my chest, looking up at Caine with eyes too wide and dry for how much he’s trembling. "The old people. They’re dead now." Despite his quivering shoulders, his voice is unnaturally

brave in front of the