The abandoned cabin swallowed us into its dimly lit interior. The air hung heavy with tension, and the watchful eyes of wolves circled us. In the centre, a young boy, no older than fifteen, lay contorted in pain. Compassion and a tinge of guilt gripped my heart as I approached him.
"What should I do?" I implored, my voice tinged with urgency and helplessness. Oliver admitted his uncertainty, and Jordan suggested a radical solution — pouring my blood over the wound. Alex immediately protested, fearing harm to me and potential contamination. Olympia's suggestion of a blood transfusion hit a wall due to lack of materials.
I stood steadfast by the injured boy's side, my eyes fixed upon him, silently pleading for guidance. An inexplicable urge prompted me to close my eyes. Strange, vivid vis
