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?"

shouting, then a sound like glass breaking. Suddenly, it all cuts

fire makes everything into ash." Her voice is as dry

the time for humor. "You know

Owen’s car, and found the aftermath. They got his car, too. The rest of the street was

takes me a second to remember the cave was somehow

"And the cave?"

"It’s... fine."

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

Where did you

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

it’s snot. Not mine, obviously,

as frazzled as

be easy in the first place, but I was wholly unprepared for

hah. So,

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

dwindling into silence after

safe, at least. Let me know if you need money, I’ll add

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 taking your

to accrue shrivels. I’m still too

have too much of it anyway." There’s a note of

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 Lyre—and now Caine—I’d be homeless and

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

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

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

all kinds

this a