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?"

reigns. Something crashes. There’s shouting, then a sound like

Her

Now is not the time for humor.

got his car, too. The

takes me a second to remember the cave was somehow

"And the cave?"

"It’s... fine."

doesn’t sound like she’s telling the truth, though, and my

now? Where did you stop for

lean against Lyre’s dresser, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Blonde hair I’m finally used to. Dark circles under my

snot. Not

look as frazzled

would be easy in the first

far... hah.

distracted by random spurts of noise on her end of the line. It all sounds very... squishy.

dwindling into silence after telling her

least. Let me know if

of what (if you’re generous) might be considered pride bristle. It’s good to know I have some somewhere, though. "I can’t keep

the one footing the bill. So what little pride I’ve managed to accrue shrivels. I’m still too dependent, but it isn’t

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

sigh. 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

the phone away from my ear, checking the screen as if it

clearing up an infestation." Her tone remains casual, as if she’s swatting flies. And yet it sounds quite violent on her end

all

a