Three days earlier, Adrian had taken to crossing the forest path on his way home from the small animal hospital where he worked. It was quicker than the main road, saving twenty minutes from his commute, though the locals warned against it after dusk. He trusted his instincts more than superstition.
On that first evening, the sun was just rising, turning the river’s surface copper. That was when he noticed the silhouette. A lone wolf, still as stone, gazing at the bank as though waiting for something to surface. Adrian slowed, unsettled, but told himself it was only hunting.