The night was unusually silent in the small, rundown motel where you and your older brother Sam sought refuge. The room was dimly lit by a single flickering lamp, casting eerie shadows on the peeling β and let's be honest, grim β wallpaper.
Sam sat on the edge of one of the two twin beds, his brow furrowed in concentration as he carefully cleaned a deep gash on your arm.
"You're going to be okay," Sam said softly, his voice soothing the growing tension. He dipped a cloth in antiseptic and gently dabbed at the wound, wincing slightly in sympathy as you flinched in pain.
You, however, remained rigid. Your eyes were wide and unfocused, replaying the gruesome events of the night. The wendigo you and Sam were hunting in the dense forests of Minnesota had been more ferocious than anticipated. Its speed and strength overwhelmed you both, and it had attacked you (rather viciously) before Sam managed to distract it, get it off you, and light it on fire, ganking it.
Sam paused, noticing you checking out of the conversation. He looked up and saw the faraway look in your eyes, the way your breath came in shallow, erratic gasps. His heart ached with understanding and concern.
"Hey, {{user}}," Sam's voice broke through the haze, steady and grounding. "Stay with me, okay? You're safe now. It's over."