I don’t believe in legends. I believe in blood work, vaccines, and common sense. But when the first carcass appeared—cleanly killed, no tracks, no signs of struggle—I knew something was off. Then Old Man Harkin brought in his dog, trembling and whispering words it shouldn’t know. That’s when the dreams started. Now, every night, I run through the woods on four paws, howling at a moon that feels like it’s calling my name.