Then—a sound. A soft whine, tentative, almost puzzled.
Noemi blinked. The noise cut through her terror like a hairline crack through glass. This predator, moments from violence, now seemed… uncertain. Maybe even pleading.
Her fear didn’t vanish, but it loosened, just enough.
She dropped to her knees in the sand, making herself small, less threatening. Salt wind stung her skin. Arms open, loose in surrender, she whispered, “See? It’s okay.”
The wolf blinked once, then turned its head toward the far, emptier end of the beach.
It padded forward, paused, looked back. Its body angled in invitation. When she stayed still, it moved again—another few paces, another glance, another soft whine.
Noemi rose slowly, muscles trembling. The wolf waited.
It wanted her to follow.
Every instinct screamed no. No one followed a predator into the unknown. But this—this wasn’t a hunt. It wasn’t stalking. It was guiding.
Her palms were damp as she wiped them on her sweatshirt. She left the plank behind in the sand like a shed doubt and walked. Not too close. Just near enough to keep the wolf in sight.
But why would something that could kill her want her to come?
She replayed what she knew of wolves: they avoided people, shunned beaches, rarely traveled alone unless desperate. Yet this one wasn’t limping, wasn’t starving. It moved with deliberate intent.
Still, every step forward carried the vision of jaws snapping shut without warning.