laurotica

The two sweetest words Dade Yonge had heard in five years still rang in his head. Parole granted. He was patient through the hearing. They went over his files, everything he’d done in the last five years, and asked questions when needed. He was a model prisoner, having managed others in the laundry rooms and volunteering at the library. No violent offenses, just a fight that he didn’t start. What got him sent to North Central was more extraordinary than commonplace, like drug possession or burglary, and they didn’t think that he would pose a risk back on the outside. He had a place to go, was eager to work, and even the prison psychologist gave him a glowing review. It was settled. Dade felt like he’d been holding his breath through the entire hearing, and could only breathe again when he heard those two words. Parole granted. For the few days after that, everything had been a blur. He was aware of the others talking to him, aware of the guards reminding him he still had to

Kane opened a new message on his phone to send her a first text on Saturday morning. At four-thirty, the sky was still dark and the outside was unbelievably quiet. Leaving now, be there in five. Her response dinged when he was getting into his truck. I'll be ready. Violet looked a little tired when he arrived outside of her cabin. Her hair was thrown into a messy bun and her eyes were dark. She was waiting for him on her deck with a mug in one hand and her phone in the other, dressed in her usual uniform of a black shirt and shorts. “Did you sleep well?” he asked. “I’m not a morning person,” she replied, her voice dry, “but I want to get to the park before it gets too crowded.” She waved him over. “Come inside.” He wasn’t sure what he was expecting with her house, but from what he knew of Violet Brenner, it was exactly what he thought it would be. The space was small and cozy, and like his apartment, the furniture was dated but well-maintained. The personal touches came

Hya changed in the employee bathroom at Ed’s before she left on Tuesday, out of the drab work clothes and into a pair of ripped jeans and a black thermal shirt. Her stomach did three flips on the short walk to Bran’s, and only settled when she walked in and saw no hulking werewolf seated at the bar. Violet and Annette had a table off to the side, and waved her over. During the summer, when the bar was packed and the air was hot, they always got a standing table and enough tequila shots to make all three witches tipsy. In winter, Bran’s was still lively with the island’s creatures, just not as rowdy as it got in the summer. Thankfully, they had a glass of white wine waiting for her when she sat down. “Sorry I’m late. The drink gun backed up and I had to mop up before I left.” She turned to Violet. “You’re all packed?” “As much as I can be,” she answered. In twelve hours she would be en route to the border. From Bar Harbor, it was a long eleven hours to Toronto. “I’ve never