Every morning, Rouis joined Luc and Ambre for the meal, his body slowly regaining its strength. After crossing the vestibule, he put on his coat and grasped the handle.

  “Don’t go out, Rouis! There’s a killer in the city, seventeen dead in four days. I don’t dare go out anymore,” Ambre said.

  “We’re going to run out of supplies,” he murmured.

  “Go rest, I’ll take care of it,” Luc said.

  Rouis went up to his room and, lying on his bed, stared at the ceiling. A sound echoed. He strained to listen. Tick… Tock. He pushed back the sheets and, swinging his legs out of bed, a shiver ran down his spine. He moved toward the door and brushed the handle, flinching at the touch of the icy metal.

  Once downstairs, he groped along the table until his fingers found the smooth surface of a candlestick. He grabbed the tinder lighter and, after a few strikes, a flame sprang to life. Its golden glow danced across the walls of the sitting room. He approached a shelf and took down a volume bound in blackened leather. On its cover, a pentagram was inscribed at the heart of a network of intertwined runes. He turned the first page, and at the edge of the words, figures emerged from the ink. Some shapes, sculpted of flame, twisted in on themselves, their limbs stretched beyond the limits of what was possible. Others bore horns. Their claws gleamed, while their eyes sank deep into their sockets. Golden arabesques wove between the images. When he brushed the characters, warmth spread through his hand.

  Griiik…

  The door shifted, and he slipped behind a piece of furniture. A silhouette emerged from the shadows. Luc entered the sitting room, a bag slung over his shoulder. He crossed the room and disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he reappeared and went upstairs. Rouis left his hiding place and stepped into the kitchen. Inside the bag were canned goods, bread, vegetables, and a few cuts of meat.

  *****

  Each night, Rouis strained to listen, knowing the ritual by heart. Luc’s footsteps echoed down the corridor, followed by the creak of a door. Silence then stretched on, lasting until the first light of dawn. When he returned, the scene repeated itself in reverse: a door slamming, followed by footsteps.

  Meanwhile, the city sank into paranoia. Rumors spoke of curses, of creatures lurking in the shadows, coming out at night to devour men. Hundreds of bodies were found, torn apart and shattered, reduced to unrecognizable shapes. Each morning brought its share of corpses, and each evening the streets emptied a little earlier. Doors were bolted shut, shutters slammed as soon as the light began to fade. Even the most skeptical had resigned themselves to no longer wandering outside at night.

  But Rouis had another battle to fight. He had regained his former weight, his skin no longer bore the sickly pallor of his bedridden days, and yet something was wrong. A creeping weakness still inhabited him, as though his body struggled to reclaim its own energy. Every movement was fluid yet disconnected, as if he stood on the edge of an existence that no longer fully belonged to him.

  And then there was the bark, a need that had turned into an insatiable hunger. Each day, he demanded more of it. It was no longer a simple remedy; it had become a necessity, the only thread keeping him afloat. And when it was lacking, his body grew tense, impatient. His gestures became abrupt, his words too sharp. Luc did his best to keep some in reserve, but he struggled to find enough.

  That night, while Luc was busy packing his bag, Rouis came down the stairs.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Where do you find all these supplies?” he asked.

  “You’re not in any condition, Rouis. Go to bed.”

  “I’m not sleepy.”

  Luc closed the bag and adjusted the collar of his coat. A cold draft rushed into the house when he opened the front door.

  “I’m going out. I’ll be back in an hour. Rest—you need your strength.”

  He gave him a look before stepping through the door and disappearing into the night.

  *****

  A few weeks later, winter had faded away. The snow melted into streams, carving muddy paths between the stones. That morning, after a night spent tossing and turning, unable to find sleep, he went down to the kitchen. The smell of toasted bread hung in the air. Ambre was busy at the counter, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows as her knife slid over the golden crust. Beside her, Luc was pouring steaming water into cups. When she was finished, she brushed the crumbs aside with the back of her hand and set the slices on a plate.

  “You’re up early,” she said without looking up, focused on spreading the jam.

  Rouis sat down at the table.

  “We’re going to have to leave, Ambre.”

  “Why now? We’re safe here!”

  “It’s been too long. We can’t stay indefinitely.”

  “Rouis is right. you’ve stayed well beyond what was planned,” Luc said.

  “And the serial killer? You’ve seen what he’s done… he could come back,” she whispered.

  “There haven’t been any new murders for days. Maybe he’s gone,” Rouis replied.

  “Give me a little more time,” Ambre murmured.

  As they finished their meal, Ambre stared into her cup while Luc put away the leftovers.

  “Thank you for everything,” Rouis said, wiping his mouth.

  “It’s a pleasure to see you enjoy your meal.”

  He stretched and stood up.

  “I’m going into the city, we need to prepare for our departure.”

  “Be careful,” Luc said.

  “I won’t be long,” he replied, pulling on his coat.

  Outside, a child trotted along the cobblestones, but his smile faded as soon as he met Rouis’s gaze. He turned on his heel and slipped into a shop. Behind a window, a curtain quivered, briefly revealing an indistinct silhouette before falling still again. Farther on, planks boarded up the windows.

  Rouis turned into a narrower alley, heavy with the smells of damp straw and leather. Between two buildings, a stable could be made out, its half-open doors revealing the tail of a horse lashing the air. Near the entrance, an old man stood leaning on his cane.

  “I’m looking for a sturdy mount.”

  The old man disappeared into the stable, his cane thudding against the earthen floor. The breath of the animals filled the space, broken now and then by the scrape of a hoof. He lifted the latch of a stall and swung the door open, revealing a brown-coated horse.

  “It’s a good beast, solid and enduring,” he said, patting its flank.

  “How much?” Rouis asked.

  “Twenty-five gold coins.”

  “Is it a warhorse? I’ve known cavalry mounts that were cheaper,” he replied with a wry smile.

  “That’s the times we live in. The roads aren’t safe anymore, and those who travel need a horse that can endure the distance. As for those who stay here, they don’t have much to sell. Supply is low, demand is high.”

  Rouis held out his hand, and the horse lowered its head to sniff his palm. Its warm breath brushed his skin as he ran his fingers along its flank.

  “Eighteen.”

  “Twenty-three.”

  “Twenty.”

  “Twenty-two, and I’ll throw in the saddle.”

  He handed over the coins, and the old man hurried to snatch them up.

  “Take good care of him. He’s docile, yes—but proud. Mistreat him, and he’ll make you pay for it.”

  He took the reins and swung up onto the horse’s back.

  “Safe travels, stranger.”

  He inclined his head and left the stable, resuming his way toward the market. On the stalls, fruit was piled high in woven baskets, their skins marked with brown spots. Farther on, loaves of bread were lined up, covered with coarse cloth. Spices, relegated to the shade of the counters, let only a fleeting scent escape. A man placed a coin on the counter of a stand.

  “Carrots, I’m not asking for much, just enough to get by,” he murmured.

  The shopkeeper gathered a handful of vegetables and placed them in a bag.

  “Take care of yourself,” she murmured.

  The man nodded and walked away. Rouis tied his horse to a ring set into the stone.

  “Three coins for this piece, my friend. Would you like a little more?” the merchant asked as he cut a chunk of cheese from the wheel.

  Rouis handed over the coins, but his gaze lingered on the man standing beneath the shadow of an awning, his face half-hidden by a hood. Their eyes met, and the stranger slipped into an alley.

  “You seem distracted, is everything all right?” the vendor asked.

  “Thank you for the cheese.”

  Rouis adjusted his pack and went on his way.