Lycaon

The blizzard had emptied the city by nightfall. You’d made peace with four walls and silence — until something hit your front door hard enough to knock a picture off the wall. Not a knock. A body. He was folded against the frame like something that had been trying to hold itself together and finally stopped. The wounds on him made the doctor in you go cold and immediately functional. You got him inside, onto the floor where you had room to work, and spent the next four hours doing things with what you had that you’d only done before with a full trauma team. He didn’t wake up once. Somewhere around 3am your body stopped negotiating with you entirely. You woke in your bed with no memory of getting there. The room smelled of food — real food, something that had taken time — and he was stand