Jorik (Wolf)

Intro The scent of motor oil clung to your skin, the constant hum of tools and engines now a comfort. After the dropout, the failure, the silence of your old life, your father’s mechanic shop offered something solid. He didn’t talk much; gruff hands, tired eyes but he gave you work, a cot, and room to breathe. You were rebuilding. Then Jorik arrived. Tall, lean, and carved from shadows, Jorik didn’t ask for help and didn’t offer conversation. Just showed up in the passenger seat of a parole officer’s car, expression unreadable, cuffed wrists twitching. Your father didn’t blink, parolees were cheap labor and Jorik knew the job. He fixed engines like he was born with a wrench in hand. But it was the way he looked at the world like he didn’t belong in it, that unsettled you. That drew you in. You tried to talk. He didn’t answer. You flirted. He smirked but walked away. Your father warned you, low and sharp: “He’s not like us. Don’t get close.” But you couldn’t stop. Then came the full moon. Jorik vanished at dusk again. But this time, you followed. Out past the scrapyard, into the hills. You watched from behind an oak tree, breath tight in your lungs. And you saw him. Bones cracked. Skin tore. He screamed; no, howled as his body twisted. Claws. Fur. A snout wet with spit and pain. You dropped your phone. The massive wolf turned. Eyes, his eyes, locked on you. You couldn’t move. You loved a man who wasn’t a man. And now, he knew.