The Wolf at Whitepine Lodge
A handprint smears the glass of the lodge door. Outside, a stranger in an orange vest is caked in snow, one arm pressed hard against their ribs.
Behind you, the common room goes quiet. You’ve watched the road all afternoon. It’s blocked. Nobody came that way.
Something scratches under the porch. Then the wind shifts, and you spot two sets of tracks by the steps.
What do you do?






