Jack’s heart beat faster now, his senses heightened in a way he had never experienced before. The sight of the wolves circling the crate—the way they didn’t seem aggressive, didn’t scatter at his presence—was unnatural. In all his years of farming, Jack had never seen wolves act this way. He had heard of their intelligence, but this was something different. It was as if they were waiting for him. As if the crate held something they couldn’t reach—something only he could.

For a long moment, Jack just stood there, staring at the wolves, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. They weren’t attacking or hunting. They were watching, waiting for him. And the crate… it seemed to beckon him.

His mind raced through possibilities, each more bizarre than the last. Could it be a trap? Some kind of strange, sick joke? But why the wolves? Why would they be guarding something?

He could feel the tension in the air, thick like fog, pressing against his skin. There was no sound now, except the wolves’ soft growls and the occasional scrape of their claws against the earth. The field, the land—everything had gone quiet, as if the world had paused for this single moment. A single moment that could change everything.

With a deep breath, Jack steeled himself. He had been raised on this land, had worked it with his own hands. He wasn’t afraid of much—certainly not of a few wolves, no matter how odd their behavior. But he couldn’t ignore the feeling gnawing at the back of his mind: something was about to happen, and it had nothing to do with the wolves.

The Crate

He took a step forward, then another, moving slowly as the wolves watched him, their eyes never leaving his. They parted just enough to give him room, but they didn’t move away. Jack could feel their eyes on him, as if they were urging him forward. The closer he got to the crate, the more his nerves prickled, the air growing thick with something… ancient. He couldn’t place it, but it felt like he had just crossed some unseen threshold.

The crate itself was weathered, its wood blackened in spots as if it had been exposed to something more than just the elements. Its surface was marked by long, jagged scratches, and it seemed far older than anything Jack had ever seen in these parts. It didn’t belong. Not in the field, not in the middle of nowhere, and certainly not under the watchful eyes of these wolves.

He crouched down, his breath shallow. The wolves backed up just slightly, their gaze unwavering. Jack reached for the latch, his fingers cold against the rusted metal, and with a gentle tug, the crate creaked open.

At first, there was nothing. The darkness inside the crate seemed to swallow the light from the morning sun, and Jack’s pulse quickened. What could it possibly be?

Then his eyes adjusted. He blinked, not believing what he was seeing.

Inside the crate, wrapped in old, tattered cloth, was a bundle. A bundle that shifted slightly, as if alive. He leaned in closer, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. The faint scent of earth and something else—something metallic—hung in the air.

He peeled the cloth back carefully, his hands shaking slightly. And there it was.

A figure.

A person. A woman.

Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and her hair—dark, tangled—lay across her face. She was curled in a fetal position, her hands and feet bound, but she was breathing. Shallow, slow breaths.

Jack’s mouth went dry. “What the hell…” he whispered, his mind reeling with disbelief.

The wolves—who had stepped back momentarily—were now silent, almost as if they were allowing him to examine her. He didn’t know what to think. What was going on here? Who was this woman? Why had the wolves been guarding her?

She wasn’t dead. He could see the slight rise and fall of her chest. But she was clearly in distress, her face pale, her lips cracked, and her body trembling slightly as if she had been trapped there for an unthinkable amount of time.

The wolves’ growls became louder, fiercer, and Jack knew that whatever was coming was drawing closer. He had no idea what he was involved in, what this woman’s presence meant, but he had to act.

With one last look at the field, the wolves, and the woman in his arms, Jack made his decision.

He didn’t know what awaited him, but he was about to find out.