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?"

There’s shouting, then a sound like glass

ash." Her

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

pick up Owen’s car, and found the aftermath. They got his car, too. The

the

"And the cave?"

"It’s... fine."

and my suspicion only grows when she quickly changes

far are you now? Where

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

snot. Not

frazzled as

the first

hah.

on her end of the line. It all sounds very... squishy. And

interrupt. When I finally finish, dwindling into silence after telling her

seems to follow you everywhere, doesn’t it?" she drawls. "Try to stay safe, at least. Let me know if you need money, I’ll add more on

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

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

a note of dismissal in her voice, suggesting this topic

and no prospects for one in the near future, with this strange lifestyle I’ve somehow acquired. Who am I to argue with free money? If it wasn’t for

the line, followed immediately by a high-pitched scream. It

checking the screen as if it might show me what’s

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

for all kinds

this a bad