I freeze.
My breath locks in my throat as the hooded figure lifts its hands slowly, almost ceremonially, and pulls the hood back. The fabric falls behind their shoulders without a sound. The light in the room flickers in response, as if even the temple inhales.
What I see is not human.
Not wolf.
Something in between, and something older than both.
Their skin is smooth but not flesh. It is carved with silver runes that pulse gently with each breath they take. The symbols move in small patterns, shifting like constellations stirred by invisible wind. Their eyes glow with soft lunar light, pale and steady, watching me with an expression that feels more like recognition than curiosity.
My chest tightens. My wolf pushes up so sharply that my nails bite into my palms.
The figure inclines
