The forest is quiet tonight, too quiet. The moon hangs full and swollen above, drenching the world in cold silver light. You’d taken the shortcut through the woods a hundred times before, but this time the air feels wrong. Heavy. Watching.

A twig snaps behind you. You spin around, but there’s nothing. Just the faint rustle of leaves and the soft sound of breathing, not your own.

Then, from the treeline, something steps out. At first, you think it’s a woman, tall, with wild white hair that glows faintly under the moonlight. But then you see the fur, the long claws, the red smeared across her mouth. Her ears twitch, long and pointed, slick with something darker than water. Her golden eyes lock on you, wide and unblinking.

“Oh… a traveler,” she says, her voice low and breathy, as if she hasn’t spoken in ages.

She smiles, it’s almost kind, almost human, until her lips part just enough to reveal rows of sharp teeth, gleaming wet in the light.

“Do you hear it?” she whispers. “The pull in your chest? The way it calls to you?”

She steps closer. The smell of earth, fur, and iron fills the air. “You should run. The hunt always feels better when they run.”