Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 171: Grace: Not Paranoia

The phone in my back pocket chimes with a notification. I wipe peanut butter off my fingers, and Jer snatches the PB&J with a quick, "Thanks!" tossed over his shoulder.

For whatever reason, he and Sara are in some sort of competition, where they’re counting white cars (Sara) and red cars (Jer). They also yell out when they see tow trucks pass—as if rubbing salt into the wound of our long wait.

Caine and Andrew are outside with the dog, probably still staring at the tire they can’t fix.

Whatever keeps them happy, I guess.

Since Bun’s napping on Ron’s lap and my hands are once again free, I check the phone, expecting to see another Divinity Connect message.

Instead, I see Lyre’s name.

[LYRE: Owen’s place was burned down. Good thing you got out.]

I gasp. Burned down?!

Ron glances up from where he’s been playing with Bun’s feet as she sleeps. "Everything okay?"

"Hm? Oh. Yeah. Everything’s fine." I’m already lying to children. I’m a terrible mother. "I’ll be right back. I need to call Lyre."

"Okay," Jer and Sara chorus.

My hands shake as I duck into Lyre’s bedroom and shut the door. This isn’t a conversation to have over texts.

The phone rings over and over, until finally it clicks.

Before she can even say hello, I demand, "What do you mean, burned down?"

end, chaos reigns. Something crashes. There’s shouting, then a sound like glass breaking. Suddenly, it

into ash." Her voice is as dry

groan. Now is not the time for humor. "You know what

went to pick up Owen’s car, and found the aftermath. They got his car, too. The rest of the street was fine, so

the cave was somehow connected to

"And the cave?"

"It’s... fine."

the truth, though, and my suspicion only grows when she quickly

are you now? Where did you stop for the

the mirror. Blonde hair I’m finally used to. Dark circles under my

snot. Not mine, obviously, but

frazzled as

in the first place, but I was wholly unprepared for

hah. So,

explain our current predicament, occasionally distracted by random spurts of noise on her end of the line.

dwindling into silence after telling her about the flat

"Try to stay safe, at least. Let me know if you need money,

of what (if you’re generous) might be considered pride bristle. It’s good to know I have some somewhere, though.

So what little pride I’ve managed to accrue shrivels. I’m still

There’s a note of dismissal in her voice, suggesting

Realistically speaking, I’m poor. I have no job and no prospects for one in the near future, with this strange lifestyle I’ve somehow acquired.

followed immediately by a high-pitched scream. It

was that?" I pull the phone away from my ear, checking the screen as if

infestation." Her tone remains casual, as if she’s swatting flies. And yet it sounds quite

for all kinds of

a bad