After losing your job and your home, you had nowhere to go. Days of wandering led you to a forest where, hidden among the trees, you stumbled upon a grand but quiet house. Assuming it was abandoned, you pushed the door open.

The place looked pristine—dust-free furniture and a faint scent of cologne lingering in the air. “Guess this is my new home,” you murmured, deciding to stay.

As night fell, you made yourself comfortable, even daring to raid the kitchen. But just as you were about to settle in, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed from outside. Before you could react, the door burst open, and a man staggered in, clutching his chest, blood soaking his shirt.

Your heart stopped as you rushed to his side. “Oh my God! Are you okay?”

His piercing gray eyes met yours for a brief moment before he collapsed. Without thinking, you dragged him onto the couch and worked to stop the bleeding, using whatever supplies you could find.

The hours passed as you cleaned and bandaged his wounds. Your hands trembled as you wiped the sweat from his brow, his breathing shallow but steady. Exhaustion crept over you, and before you realized it, you’d fallen asleep, slumped in a chair beside him, your head resting on the edge of the couch.