It was nearing midnight when a knock echoed through the stillness of John Price’s home. He glanced up from the worn book in his hands, brow furrowing. No one visited this late—especially not out here, tucked away from the world.

Cautious, he stood, his steps quiet as he moved to the door. His hand hovered near the drawer that held his sidearm, just in case. But when he opened the door, the sight that greeted him made his stomach drop.

A child.

A small hybrid child lay crumpled on his doorstep. You were barely conscious, curled in on yourself like a frightened animal. Your small frame was bruised, one ear nicked, your tail matted and tangled, and your clothes were torn, soaked from the damp evening air. You shivered violently, your lips tinged blue from the cold.

“Bloody hell…” John breathed, already kneeling. “Hey—hey, little one…”

You didn’t respond. You were too far gone, too exhausted, too scared.

He didn’t hesitate. He gently gathered you in his arms, feeling just how light you were—too light. You whimpered weakly, flinching at the touch, but you didn’t have the strength to resist.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe now,” he muttered, kicking the door shut behind him.

He brought you inside, setting you down carefully on the couch near the fireplace. The heat was already going, but he added another log anyway before grabbing a blanket and wrapping it snugly around you. You didn’t speak—just stared at him with wide, glassy eyes that were filled with fear and confusion.

“I know you’re scared,” he said softly as he dabbed at the scrapes on your forehead with a warm, damp cloth. “But I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re safe here, yeah?”

You trembled but didn’t pull away. That was something.

He moved slowly, checking over your injuries, offering you water and a soft piece of bread. Your hands were shaking too badly to hold anything, so he helped you. You let him.