I pick up a third option when a soft voice interrupts.
"I don't recommend that brand. You'll end up brassy."
I turn to find a girl with hair in every color of the rainbow. Her eyes—unnaturally slitted like a cat's—survey me with amused interest.
"I'm not really sure what I'm looking at," I admit.
She glances around before grabbing a different box. "This would work best out of what's on the shelves."
"Oh." I read over the box, not seeing any real difference except—"This one costs more."
"The cheap ones aren't worth it." She cocks her head, studying me. "Ever lightened your hair before?"
"No."
She rubs the tip of her nose, eyes narrowing as she looks me up and down. "You from around here?"
I hesitate, looking around. She seems a little too helpful to be a wolf shifter, but I'm still nervous. Where's Andrew?
"My rig's in the parking lot," she says, jerking her thumb toward the entrance. "If you want help going blonde."
"Oh. Are you... some sort of hair dresser?"
She laughs. "Nah. Just a vagabond. But I've bleached my hair enough times. I can help with yours."
Andrew appears then, his basket filled with canned foods, crackers, apples, and a couple bottles of water. I introduce him to the girl, whose name I realize I don't even know.
She tells us to call her Lyre, solving that problem.
Looking at Andrew, then me, and the things in his basket, her eyes narrow. "You two run away from home or something?"
I flinch.
"No," he says too quickly. His eyes drop to the box in my hand. "Did you want to change your hair color?"
I hastily return the box to the shelf, feeling oddly guilty. I wasn't trying to spend Andrew's money or anything. It feels even more awkward now, probably because he admitted having a crush on me once before. "I was just curious."
"It's fine," he says, grabbing it off the shelf and tossing it into his basket. "Might be a good idea anyway."
"If you've run away from home," the girl interjects, "you really don't want to botch up your dye job. Also, you'll need at least one more box."
Ten minutes later, we're following her to a pickup truck across the parking lot with a giant camper hitched to the back. My stomach churns with nerves. It's probably stupid to follow a stranger, but at least we're in the parking lot of an open business.
Besides, with Andrew here, it's unlikely she can do anything terrible to me.
Lyre opens the door to her fifth wheel, sweeping her arm in a dramatic gesture. "Welcome to my humble abode."
The space that greets us isn't what I expected. It's like stepping into another world—one splashed with color and life. Every surface holds something fascinating: lightweight cloth in rich jewel tones drape across the walls, fairy lights strung in zigzag patterns across the ceiling cast a warm glow over everything, and plants hang from macramé holders in every corner. The kitchenette gleams with copper pots dangling from a rack, while the small dinette area has been transformed with cushions covered in fabrics that look like they came from at least four different countries. It feels more like a bohemian apartment than an RV.
"You staying anywhere in town?" Lyre asks, tossing her keys into a ceramic bowl shaped like a lotus.
"No," Andrew answers, his posture stiff. He doesn't elaborate, and I catch the slight narrowing of his eyes—a warning to me.
"Hmm. Well, let's get started then." She motions for me to follow her toward the back of the trailer. "Bathroom's this way."
The bathroom is tiny, but just as colorful as the rest of the space. A shower curtain printed with peacock feathers hangs beside a sink adorned with shells and small crystals. Even the mirror has been decorated with pressed flowers embedded in its frame.
"It's going to get tight in here," she warns, pulling out a towel in a faded purple hue. She rummages through a cabinet and produces a small jar. "First things first—petroleum jelly around your hairline. Keeps the bleach from burning your skin."
