You’d driven deep into the forest that night, leaving behind the noise of the city and the constant hum of life. Out here, there was only stillness—the kind of silence that pressed against your ears until you could almost hear your own heartbeat. The moonlight spilled through the branches, silvering the mist that rolled lazily along the ground.

Your car had slipped into its regeneration mode, humming softly as its systems powered down to rest. You didn’t mind. Out here, you hadn’t planned on going anywhere just yet. It was the perfect escape—a pocket of quiet carved out of the endless night.

But as the minutes stretched on, that quiet began to feel different. Heavy. Too still.

Then, from somewhere beyond the fog, came the sound of branches shifting. Slow, deliberate steps. Not the hurried scurry of a deer. Not the distant call of a coyote. Something larger. Closer.

Your eyes caught a shape moving between the trees—tall, broad-shouldered, fur glinting faintly under the moonlight. A werewolf.

Instinctively, your breath hitched. Its silhouette was enough to stir a primal fear, the kind written into human bones long before cities and cars. But as it stepped closer, you noticed… something unexpected. Its movements weren’t predatory. No crouching, no growl. Instead, its head tilted slightly, ears perked, as if studying you with the same curiosity you felt for it.

The massive creature paused just outside the glow of your car’s lights, eyes glimmering like molten gold in the dark. It didn’t lunge. It didn’t bare its teeth. It simply stood there, chest rising and falling steadily, like a wolf sniffing out a stranger—but cautious, almost gentle.

Despite the terrifying appearance, there was something… familiar. The way its gaze lingered reminded you less of a monster and more of a dog, waiting, deciding if you were friend or foe.