It was late afternoon, the kind of gray-blue light that presses through frost-covered windows, when I heard the desperate scratching at the door.
A blizzard had been hammering the area all day, the wind howling as if trying to scour the world clean.
I paused for a moment, the sound sharp and insistent, cutting through the dull hum of my afternoon.
I hesitated, hand hovering over the doorknob, unsure if I should open it.
The storm outside was a force of nature, relentless and fierce.
Inside, my life was a quiet storm of its own, swirling with uncertainty and silent pressures.
Finally, I opened the door despite the freezing cold.
Three figures stood there, bundled in soaked coats and saturated scarves—wolves, or at least people who looked like they could be lost in the wilderness.
I didn’t think twice.
The cold air bit at my skin as I ushered them inside, their presence immediately filling the small space with a tangible weight.
