Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 163: Grace: What Jer Saw My lungs burn from the effort of dashing to Jer's scream.

Even then, I trail far behind Lyre and Owen, who have the advantage of supernatural speed.

I hate it.

Hate being human and slow when a child needs me.

These kids are vulnerable, and I'm supposed to be watching over them—what was I thinking, letting him dash off like this? Easy: Jer was being Jer. Overexcited about the idea of taking a dog with us, even if we don't need it and she belongs to other people. I didn't think twice about his exuberance as he bounded off to "ask for permission". I should have.

By the tI reach the Archie and Doris's camper site, everything's already in motion. Broad-shouldered Owen pushes his way into the trailer first, disappearing into the doorway. Lyre, on the other hand, reaches inside and drags Jer backward, away from whatever he's seen.

As soon as he spots me, the boy bolts from Lyre's grip. He slams into me, arms wrapping around my waist so tight I almost stagger back. His entire body trembles against mine, his face buried in my chest. I curl my hands around his shoulders instinctively, one palm moving to cradle the back of his head.

Whatever he saw is bad. Bad enough to shake a rambunctious seven- or eight-year-old boy.

Lyre stands behind Owen in the RV doorway, peering around his bulk. She lets out a long sigh. "I knew it." "I should have noticed," he agrees, his voice tight with frustration.

"They hid it well enough." Her tone is flat; whatever horror is inside, it hasn't affected her. "They knew what they were doing." My stomach knots into multiple tiny pretzels. "What's wrong?" Against my shirt, Jer's voice comes out muffled and small. "They're dead." My heart drops to my feet. Archie and Doris-the sweet elderly couple who'd welcomed us with barbecue and laughter-dead? We'd just had dinner with them yesterday. It's impossible.

"Owen, take care of the kid," Lyre says without looking back, stepping deeper into the RV to make room.

Owen backs out of the camper on her order and kneels beside us. I loosen my grip on Jer just enough for Owen to reach out, patting his head with surprising gentleness for hands so large.

"They're not dead, Jer," Owen says, his voice calm and measured. For once, he doesn't sound terrifying.

But his words don't make much sense.

I blink, utterly confused. "What?" "The bodies are just puppets," he explains, glancing up at me. "Vessels. Nothing to fear. Those within are merely absent for the moment." "How is that possible?" I ask, still holding Jer close.

Owen squints at me, like he's trying to think of how much to share. Finally, he says, "It's more common than you'd think. Their souls will return to inhabit the bodies when needed." Souls don't just leave your body, take a stroll, and pop back in. That's not how anything works. Not unless it's App-related.

And if that's the case? Of course Owen's not explaining-he's worried about Plausibility again.

This damn Plausibility is seriously getting in my way.

I don't even know who sets the rules or who created the App, but I have a feeling the information's on a need-to- know basis.

Jer shakes his head violently against my chest. "No. They're dead. I saw them." His shoulders shake harder, little tremors rippling through his small frame.

A familiar feeling in the air alertsto a familiar approach, and I glance over my shoulder to see Caine striding toward us, his posture tense and alert.

Far behind him, Sadie sits in the field like she hasn't noticed the chaos at all. Her golden fur stirs in the breeze, tail sweeping calmly across the grass. She doesn't seem tense or stressed-just quietly waiting, tongue lolling.

I don't think she knows what's happening inside the camper. Or maybe she does. Maybe it's why she cto us. Caine's eyes scan the area before landing on the boy.

"What happened?" he asks, gentle despite the tight look on his face.

The boy lifts his head from my chest, looking up at Caine with eyes too wide and dry for how much he's trembling. "The old people. They're dead now." Despite his quivering shoulders, his voice is unnaturally calm.

The disconnect between his body language and his tone makes my chest ache. He's trying to be brave in front of the Lycan King. He's a kid. He shouldn't have to worry about being brave.

I know I'm useless here. Whatever's happening in that camper isn't something I can fix or understand.

But there is something I can do, and it's to get him out of here.

"Jer, con," I say softly, running my palm over his dark curls. "Let's go back to the others and let them figure out what's going on." He nods, subdued in a way he never is. It shatters my heart into thousands of tiny pieces.

He reaches for my hand, wrapping his small fingers around mine with desperate tightness as we walk away slowly. Behind us, I hear the low murmur of Caine and Owen talking, but I focus on the child beside me. We've barely made it halfway across the field when Jer speaks again. "Is it because of us? Is that why they died?" The question twists my heart into knots. A seven-year-old shouldn't have to wonder if he's the reason people are dead.

"No, Jer. Owen already said they aren't really dead."

He shakes his head stubbornly, dark curls bouncing. "No. They were alive before. They weren't puppets. They were warm and they liked to make jokes." His voice cracks. "Puppets don't look like that. Puppets don't smile or have fun."

What nightmare did he see inside that camper? What trauma is repeating itself in his youngmind? | let go of his hand to wrap my arm around his thin shoulders, drawing him closer against my side and squeezing gently. "Don't worry. Owen wouldn't lie to you." Jer's response is immediate and matter-of-fact. "He would. He would if he thinks he needs to."