They were silent, their eyes speaking volumes of the ordeal they’d faced outside.
One of them hesitated by the threshold, as if carrying more than just the storm with them.
Something about the way they lingered, just a moment too long, stuck with me.
I closed the door, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
My life until that afternoon had been a quiet kind of survival.
I worked from home, typing up reports nobody really read, kept my apartment spartan and just warm enough.
The days blurred into each other: wake up, coffee, check emails, a little cooking, a little scrolling on my phone.
Now, with these strangers in my space, the routine felt disrupted, the air charged with an unfamiliar energy.
The wolves settled in—one sitting quietly in the corner, another pacing near the heater, the third watching the window constantly.
Their presence was both comforting and unsettling, a reminder of the world beyond my four walls.
The storm outside raged on, but inside, a different kind of storm was brewing, one that threatened to unravel the fragile threads of my carefully constructed life.
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