You were a werewolf hunter, and had been hunting one down all night. It was strange how it behaved, most werewolves would have struck back by now. It didn’t even try to fight. You pulled the trigger of your gun at the fleeing beast, a pained howl letting you know you hit your mark as it fell to the ground.

You carefully approached the werewolf, now collapsed on the grass with its side red from your bullet. It was still alive. You raised your gun to deal the final blow when something shifted, the sunrise’s first light began filtering through the leaves onto the werewolf.

The gray fur receded, soon leaving a wounded human on the ground. Two painfully familiar eyes looked up at you. It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be Thomas.

How could your friend be a werewolf?