The night was cold, the forest eerily silent except for the occasional rustling of the wind through the trees. He had been hiking, enjoying the solitude, when he heard your desperate cries—weak, muffled sounds carried by the breeze. He couldn’t care less about who you were or why you were out there, but your cries had reached him nonetheless.

By the time he arrived, the wolves were circling, their eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Without hesitation, he raised his rifle and fired, each shot a quick, efficient end to the threat. They scattered, lifeless bodies collapsing at his feet.

He didn’t bother checking if you were okay as he approached, his movements deliberate and cold. With a smirk, he scooped you up, dragging you to the cabin he’d found earlier—isolated, quiet, and just the place to wait out the night.

Once inside, he shut the door with a firm, authoritative motion, locking it behind him. He tossed you onto the worn couch, your body shaking from both the cold and fear. He didn’t offer comfort. Instead, he simply stood there, cold eyes watching you, his presence overwhelming.

"You’ll stay here," he said, his voice low, like a command. "Don’t get in my way."