"And leave them where, exactly?" Owen asks, his massive form somehow fitting into Lyre’s cramped bedroom without bumping into everything. Bun clings to him like a koala, her tiny face buried in his neck. Her chubby fingers twist into the collar of his shirt, refusing to let go.
"With Grace, far from this territory. I already explained this." Lyre paces the tight space, which is about three steps long on the other side of the bed.
Outside the door, there’s a shuffling of small feet and not-so-hushed whispers.
"It’s not fair," Sara whines. "Owen just got here and she’s hogging him."
"Is she gonna turn him into a toad again?" Jer’s voice rises with curiosity.
"Shut up," Ron hisses. "Get back to the living room and just wait patiently."
I focus back on the conversation in front of me.
"What are we even looking for?" Owen asks, patting Bun’s back. "The notification was vague at best."
Lyre turns, her cat eyes flashing and sharp teeth more apparent than normal as she snarls, "If they know there’s an agent of Chaos, they should damn well say what it is."
Owen’s reply comes out measured and calm, but the bass in his voice still sends a chill down my spine. "They won’t. It’s up to us to figure it out."
I really can’t get over how someone who makes candied fruit for children can sound so much like he’s planning a murder. Nature’s cruel joke—giving the gentlest soul the voice of a hitman.
"No shit, Sherlock," Lyre snarks.
Owen flinches a little. He’s not pale and cringing every time she looks his way anymore, and I wonder how they got so close after the toad incident. Still, it’s clear he has fear of the rainbow-haired woman by the way he avoids her anger.
I would, too, if she ever turned me into something croaky.
"Is this connected to the massacre? Or perhaps the sanguimancer?" Owen asks after an awkward period of silence.
"No." Lyre’s eyes flick to me as she frowns. "It’s probably not about the massacre. It’s about the arcanic storm Chaos threw down when he came to visit our girl here."
Owen’s head jerks toward me, his silver-gray eyes going wide. "You met Chaos?"
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, suddenly feeling like a kid who accidentally started a forest fire—and didn’t know about it. "Seems like it?"
"Grace..." Owen steps toward me, his movement causing Bun to lift her head and stare in my direction. His voice drops to a scary rumble. "Are you okay?"
I lift my hands and force a laugh. "I’m fine. It was just a dream. Nothing happened to me. More importantly, what’s an agent of Chaos, exactly?"
Lyre shrugs, leaning against her dresser. "Could be anything. A person. A monster. An object left behind. Even an entire town."
"Could even be an open rift," Owen chimes in, bouncing Bun gently as she starts to fuss.
I blink, feeling the familiar sensation of not understanding what they’re saying. "Wait—what’s a rift?"
Owen opens his mouth to answer, but Lyre cuts him off with a single sharp word: "Plausibility."
He snaps his mouth shut.
She sighs, gesturing vaguely at me. "She doesn’t have full access yet."
Owen glances at me, his intimidating frown somehow managing to look apologetic. "Sorry. Another time."
My jaw tightens. This stupid plausibility thing is the most cryptic bullshit I’ve ever heard. Almost worse than the drivel coming out of Rafe’s mouth when he tried to convince me to go to Forest Springs.
Ugh. Rafe.
I’ll have to see him again, too, when I go back.
I’m not looking forward to it.
Lyre sighs, sounding centuries old in that moment. "Sorry, Grace. I know it’s irritating. It isn’t fun for us, either."
Owen nods.
Maybe this is why he’s a man of few words. I’d naively assumed it was due to his scary voice, but being worried about all these... breaches, or whatever they are? Yeah. I get it.
Well, kind of. In theory.
Lyre’s cat-eyes narrow as she stares at me. Her expression shifts from frustration to concern.
"You shouldn’t put yourself in danger, even if you’re in danger of failing the mission. Okay, Grace? Your safety comes first."
I blink, my brain catching on her phrasing. "Wait, failing the mission?"
That concept hadn’t even occurred to me. I’d been so focused on the fact I was being sent back to Blue Mountain Pack territory—back to bad memories. I hadn’t even considered the possibility of failing the mysterious task I’ve been assigned.
Well—kind of. I had worried I wouldn’t know what to do, but hadn’t quite followed up on that thought process.
"What happens if we fail?" I ask.
The grimaces on their faces send a cold prickle down my spine.
"There’s usually some sort of imposed penalty," Lyre says reluctantly. "But it shouldn’t be terrible for someone like you, who’s listed as a temporary guardian."
"Ah," I say, as if that clarifies anything. My hands fidget with the hem of my shirt. "And what exactly is a guardian?"
Owen glances at Lyre, who gives him a slight nod.
"Guardians are divinities assigned to a specific region in order to maintain the balance of the world."
"We’re just glorified babysitters," she adds dryly. "Missions generally come in spurts, but once the core issues are taken care of, it can take decades for new ones to appear."
I absorb this, trying to fit these cosmic concepts into my painfully ordinary understanding of life. Just last week I was a lowly human in a wolf pack. Now I’m apparently a "temporary guardian" with divine assignments? The mental whiplash is real.
But this life is infinitely better than the one I ran from.
"Should I be afraid?"
Lyre shakes her head decisively. "You have a mentor. As a temporary guardian, he’ll be there to help you if it comes down to it."
I grasp at this potential lifeline. "Who is my mentor?"
Her face sours instantly, like she’s just bitten into something rotten. "Just hope you don’t need to meet him."
I blink at her, frustration bubbling up through my confusion. "You’re not making any sense. How am I supposed to rely on a mentor so I’m not afraid, when you’re also saying it’s better if I don’t meet him?"
Owen frowns. "Who is the mentor?" Even with Bun attached to him like a koala, he looks imposing.
Lyre shakes her head. "It’s better not to say. The more I say, the worse it might be if Grace meets him."
"This isn’t reassuring," I say flatly, crossing my arms. "Is this another Plausibility issue?"
She rubs her face with a long-suffering sigh. "No, it’s something else. Look, Grace; he’ll keep you alive and make sure you’re returned in one piece, so you can trust him there. But don’t think he’s a friend. Don’t assume he cares. The man has no heart. Keep your distance. That’s all I can really say."
She looks up suddenly as we all hear the RV door open and close, heavy footsteps crossing the living area.
"Looks like your boyfriend’s come in," she says, pushing herself off the dresser. "Let’s tell him the plan and hope he doesn’t lose his shit."
I groan.