Vera Sandstorm's Arc

Chapter 1 of 4

Vera Sandstorm finds the stranger slumped against the warehouse wall just after midnight. Blood pools beneath him, dark and spreading. She kneels close enough to hear his breath rattle. The formula sits in her coat pocket, useless without living flesh to act upon. His eyes flutter but don't open. Something white shifts near his hand. A fox, small and pale as winter. It presses against his palm like it knows him. Vera watches its chest rise and fall in rhythm with his breathing. The fox turns its head toward her, amber eyes sharp and aware. She reaches out slowly. The animal doesn't run. It stays. Her fingers brush through its fur and she feels warmth there, real warmth, the kind that only comes from something alive. The stranger's hand twitches. His pulse beats faint in his wrist. Living tissue, still holding on. The fox stays pressed against him like it's keeping him tethered. Vera pulls the formula from her pocket and measures the distance between what she is and what this man still has time to be. The blood keeps spreading. She has minutes, maybe less, before he crosses over and becomes as useless to her as she is to herself.