Page 110 of Fallen Gods

“Odin is, of course, treating me as he always does, but he’s at the office and I’m in the mansion.”

So she’s safe for now, albeit under lock and key.

“But…you’re okay?” I can’t help but ask again.

She’s quiet for a moment. “I’m…tired, daughter.”

My stomach drops painfully. My grip on the phone is so tight,I have to purposely unclench each finger so I don’t shatter the screen.

Daughter.I love it when she says it, but she never calls me that in front of Odin for fear of retribution. It makes my heart ache.

“Now, why are you calling so late?” she asks gently.

It isn’t that late. Which can only mean one thing.

They’re listening in.

“Just to say I miss you.”I love you. I’m sorry.

“Oh, sweetie, it’s better this way.” I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Tell me a story,” I blurt, tears in my eyes. “I can’t sleep. Silly, right?”

I swipe the tears from my cheeks and suck in a breath to keep from hyperventilating. I didn’t realize how much hearing her voice would affect me. I’ve been so strong for so long.

“A bedtime story? Well, how could I refuse?” She sighs. “Lie down, and when your eyes are heavy, I want you to nod.”

I get comfortable, lying on my back, then slowly, I nod, smiling because of course I know she can’t see it.

When I was little, my father used to tell me that my voice could conjure monsters. I had no clue he’d made it up to get me to stop talking so much. Back then, he was the center of my universe and I orbited around him, basking in his glow. So of course I believed the story, and it terrified me. So during Laufey’s bedtime stories, nodding it was.

The absence of words was my safe space.

“All right, I felt it.” She laughs low in her throat. “Good strong nod tonight, Rey.”

My throat aches as more tears slip down my cheeks.

“Do you remember the story of the wolf pup?” she asks, her voice steady, melodic. She always has a calming presence, even when the world spins into chaos. It’s like she’s tucking me in, like I’m seven years old again.

“The pup was small, scraggly,” she continues. “He followed the hunters from the village, hungry and limping, hoping for scraps. They laughed at him. Said he was weak. Said he’d never survive the bitter cold of the mountains. But still, he followed. Night after night, step after step.

“And one night, when the fire burned low, the hunters betrayed one another over the last piece of bread. They fought until none was left standing.

“But that little pup? He knew he didn’t need to fight. He didn’t need to be the strongest or the fastest. He just needed to survive while they fought one another. He was patient and persistent and eventually, they destroyed themselves. And then he licked the crumbs from the snow. He was the last one left to howl while their corpses bled into the ground.”

Her breath hitches, just barely, like she’s holding back her own tears.

“Courage, Rey, isn’t always winning the fight,” she whispers. “Sometimes it’s staying out of the fight altogether. It’s howling.”

I cover my mouth with my hand to hold in the sob, but it still breaks free, shaking my whole body. Because even if she never said the words outright, I know. This—her stories, her voice—is her way of loving me.

And it’s the one thing my father could never stop.

We hang up in the comfortable silence of family. I turn on my side and stare at the wall I share with Aric.

Blood of Odin. I may be his blood, but I won’t let it define me.

I’ll be the one who howls.