LYRE
Owen ignores Aaron to sit on the edge of my bed, reaching over to touch my shin. I smack his hand away before he makes contact with a quick shake of my head. "Don't bother. I'm under restriction again." Even if I replenish my arcana, I won't be able to use it.
"Ah."
The relief in that single syllable is mildly offensive, but considering the circumstances, I let it pass.
More importantly, I hold out my hand for my phone without saying a word, and Owen deposits it into my palm without being prompted. It's good to work with people who understand you.
"Explain exactly what's happening with Grace."
The angel-descendant's eyes get a little shifty, while Aaron keeps looking between us. He looks more like a confused golden retriever than a wolf.
I wave a hand toward the door with mild irritation. "Aaron, could you get me some water? With ice, please."
"But Grace—"
