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?"

Lyre’s end, chaos reigns. Something crashes. There’s shouting, then

everything into ash." Her voice is

for humor. "You

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

to remember the cave was somehow connected to a

"And the cave?"

"It’s... fine."

like she’s telling the truth, though, and my suspicion only grows when

you now? Where did you stop for

staring at my reflection in the mirror. Blonde hair I’m finally used to. Dark circles under my eyes. A weird stain on my shirt; no idea

it’s snot. Not mine,

frazzled as

kids never sounded like it would be easy in the first place, but

hah. So, funny

predicament, occasionally distracted by random spurts of noise on

doesn’t interrupt. When I finally finish, dwindling into silence after telling her about

she drawls. "Try to stay safe, at least. Let me know if you

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

footing the bill. So what little pride I’ve managed to accrue shrivels. I’m still too dependent, but

it anyway." There’s a note of dismissal in her

for one in the near future, with this strange lifestyle I’ve somehow acquired. Who am

respond, a wet, sloppy sound comes through the line, followed immediately by a high-pitched

I pull the phone away from my ear, checking the screen as if it might show me what’s happening. "Lyre, what

as if she’s swatting flies. And yet it sounds quite violent on her end of the line. "Don’t worry about

for all kinds of

a