"Come on, sweetie, just one more bite." I hold the spoon of scrambled eggs in front of Bun's mouth, but she turns her head away, rabbit ears flopping dramatically as she does.
She's eaten about five bites of her breakfast, and four of them ended up dribbling out in dramatic fashion as she gagged over the very same eggs she's gobbled up every morning the past few days.
I guess on Tuesdays eggs are poison.
As soon as I think I'm getting a handle on this parenting gig, she's tossed a new curveball my way.
Sighing, I check my phone again. Nothing. I've sent Lyre three texts in the last hour, and her responses have dwindled from vague to nonexistent. Granted, the woman's busy with a bunch of victims she's pulled out from the literal underground, but I'm a little antsy knowing she has kids she wants to send my way.
"Doesn't seem like she likes eggs," the old Lycan, Dylan, says from the stove, flipping another perfect pancake onto an already towering stack. "Try the banana again."
