CAINE
The lights flicker for the third time in as many minutes, casting strange shadows across Bun's tear-streaked face.
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath as I bounce her on my hip. The toddler's settled into a persistent whimper rather than full-blown screams, which is an improvement, but the damn RV is a new concern.
"Fah," Bun whispers between big sniffs.
I pace to the front of the camper, where the control panel sits mocking me with its incomprehensible display. Numbers and letters with no comprehensible logic. Grace was the one who set everything up—all I did was drive the damn thing to this godforsaken spot.
The screen flickers, then goes completely dark before lighting up again. A warning icon blinks in the corner.
Maybe it's failing, Fenris observes helpfully.
"No shit." I shift Bun to my other hip, her small hands fisting in my shirt.
"Nuh shuh."
