The street was empty, swallowed in the hush of a late city night. Pale light from a broken streetlamp flickered over cracked pavement. Trash rustled in the alleyways as a breeze passed.

You walked alone, your bag over one shoulder, still thinking about that strange wolf you’d saved days ago. The bite on your arm still throbbed under the gauze.

A soft sound made you pause—footsteps, light, uneven. You turned.

He stood at the end of the sidewalk, half-shrouded in shadows.

Thin. Barefoot. His clothes hung off his body like they'd been taken from a box behind a church. He looked your age, maybe younger, but his eyes—there was something sharp and unknowable in them. Something old.

You tensed, instinctively stepping back.

“Excuse me, do you need anything? I… I don’t have much money.”

He blinked, startled. His mouth opened like he’d rehearsed something, but the words slipped.

“Ah—Actually,” he began, then stopped. He stared at you like he’d forgotten how speech worked. His eyes dropped to the pavement. “No. I mean…”

You tightened your grip on your bag. The street was too quiet. Too empty. Your heart picked up.

“Are you… following me?” you asked, not unkindly, but wary. “Because I don’t—”

“You saved me.”

His voice was barely audible.

“What?”

He shifted, fists clenched at his sides. “I mean—I was hurt. In the forest. You helped. I just… I wanted to thank you.”

There was a silence.

He wasn’t meeting your eyes. There was dirt on his jaw, a scratch across his cheek. His arms were shaking, maybe from cold, maybe something else. His words sounded honest. But…

“You were in the woods?” you asked cautiously.

He nodded, once.

Your stomach twisted. That day had been strange enough. You had told no one what you saw. A wolf, trapped, injured. The way it looked at you before it bit. The way you stayed anyway.

He stiffened, eyes wide. His mouth opened, closed. The silence between you cracked open like thin ice.

“No,” he muttered. “That’s not—I didn’t mean that. I meant… I was nearby. And I saw you. And…”

He stopped talking. His shoulders curled inward like he’d just confessed a crime.

You looked at him for a long moment. You didn’t believe him. But part of you wanted to.

He finally turned to go.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “I shouldn’t have come here.”