Something shifts in Bun's eyes. The wildness retreats like a tide going out, leaving behind the little girl I know.
Her features shrink back to normal, pointed ears rounding, claws retracting, even her teeth shortening until they're just tiny baby teeth again. Her heaving chest slows until soft, hitching whimpers.
Tears drip.
"It's okay," I whisper, reaching out again. "Bun, honey, it's me. It's Grace."
This time, she doesn't snap. She doesn't even hesitate.
Her little arms shoot out and wrap around my neck with desperate strength. She buries her face against my collarbone and sobs—not the tantrum cries of a toddler, but something deeper and horrible. The kind of crying you do when you're so full of fear you can't even understand what you're feeling.
I hold her tight, rocking back and forth without even thinking about it. "Shh, it's okay. I've got you, baby."
