Once outside, Roland rang Claire, a frown on his face. He ignored how he was still holding Lyric’s hand when she answered. “Where are you?”
“Hello to you too,” she grumbled, and he winced a little at all the chaos he could hear in the background: kids screaming, yelling and laughing, adults also yelling, and he even heard Victor laughing. “I’m at home.”
“Chris and Creed?”
“Work, and I don’t know; he’s your brother.”
“Okay.” He hung up and looked around; he sighed; of course, Lyric lived near the police station. “We’re going to the station.”
“What? Why?” he asked, his tiny legs struggling to keep up with him as they began to walk down the street, their hands intertwined.
“Because we’re going to my house and can’t walk. It’s too far, and you don’t want to go to Claire’s.”
“Roll?” Lyri
