Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 184: Grace: Bad Luck

Someone cranks the volume on the TV, drowning out the rain beating down on the RV’s thin roof.

Andrew had worked some technological magic earlier, casting from his phone to Lyre’s television. Now the children are hypnotized by a movie about people living in a world made entirely of blocks. It’s strangely soothing to watch, even if I don’t fully understand the appeal.

All four kids have crammed themselves onto the daybed, a tangle of limbs and blankets. Poor Ron is smothered, with Sara and Jer on either side of him and Bun in his lap, but they all look content.

It’s sweet.

Across from them, I’m wedged between the arm of the couch and Caine’s solid warmth. He’s not touching me, but there’s barely an inch of space between us at any given point.

Andrew should be the only one without a living being taking up space beside him, but both Sadie and the cat have elected to use him as a bed.

It’s all very... cozy.

And cramped.

Incredibly cramped.

This camper was not made for a giant family, a tagalong, and two large animals.

My phone vibrates against my thigh, and I stifle a groan. Probably another message from Wrath or Madness, begging me to explain how I got into their chat. I’ve been ignoring them for quite some time, but they haven’t given up.

I pull out the device, already planning on discarding the notifications, but freeze when I see Lyre’s name on my screen.

Finally, a response.

[LYRE: Just ignore any messages on Divinity Connect. It might be hard to reach us for a few days. Just wait until I contact you again.]

Or not.

Not only is her text rather unhelpful—I’m already ignoring the messages and still don’t know if I should be worried about these people—the latter half of it makes my chest feel heavy.

[GRACE: Are you okay? What’s happening?]

No response. The message shows delivered but not read... again.

She was just texting me two seconds ago!

I frown at the screen, trying to decide if I should be worried. I mean... it’s Lyre.

Bun squawks at the TV, and the kids suddenly shout, "Chicken jockey!", with all of them erupting into laughter. Bun giggles, though she seems to be more amused by their reaction than to understand whatever joke just occurred on-screen.

I don’t get it, either.

"Is something wrong?"

my screen. I exit the messages so

give me a heart

I backpedal. "I mean—Lyre just messaged. Says it might be hard

who hasn’t spent hours studying his face to miss it. A slight tightening around

"Did she say why?"

shake my

grunts, unsurprised. After all, crypticity (is that a word?) is

moment longer, processing. Then he rises from the couch, phone already in hand, and walks down

take a genius to know he’s

builds a blocky tower at impossible speed while Sara mumbles something about ingredients.

so quiet, it’s

the secret

this moment of calm, but Lyre’s message nags at me.

be happening to make her unreachable? Between the strange sounds during the last call and this, I have

them missions they can’t handle, but I can’t help the

footsteps announce Caine’s return. He settles back beside me, a tiny bit closer than before. His arm stretches along the back of the couch, fingers just inches

tempting to

going-into-a-coma problem, and sanity prevails. For

answering," he says, voice pitched low. "But it’s not necessarily cause for concern. They probably require

reassure me. If anyone knows Jack-Eye’s habits, it’s him. And if anyone can

release a long breath

again—another notification from Divinity Connect. I silence it without looking, suddenly very tired of immortal beings and

getting a lot of messages," he observes, his eyes on my phone. He

I slip it into my

* * *

Andrew conspire to drive farther than Lyre’s daily recommendation. We argue for half an hour,

precautions—but another’s on its way by the next evening, as if chasing

nine hours later, we’re exhausted but right at the edge

Andrew’s weather app shows a familiar sight: a storm, ready to hit by midnight. There’s even a state of emergency

feels like we did something pointless, though this leg of the trip went without any strange hitches. No emergency stops, no throwing up—thanks to the motion sickness pills

Sara play strange car games. It started with I Spy and ended with them using their hands as puppets and pretending to be the narrators of

but disturbing. The worst was probably the semi-truck, a well-meaning, hard-working man, and the white sedan cheating

what things Owen allowed them to watch on

But more importantly...

at Andrew’s screen, announcing severe thunderstorm warnings after ten p.m. "Didn’t we come this

comment, and doesn’t seem nearly as surprised as

frown. "Were you expecting

shakes his head. "Caine

Huh.

have to pee so bad, my entire head might float

the details of the storm pushed aside as the boy