The image was strange. Not just because a wolf was rare in these parts — but because of how it stood. Not mid-step. Not snarling. Just still. Dead center of the barnyard. As if it knew it was being watched.
Hank grabbed a flashlight and headed out. The night was quiet. Too quiet. When he reached the yard, the wolf was gone. No pawprints in the frost. No broken fence.
But the barn door was wide open.
And something was moving inside.