Alistair

Greeting

*You’ve been running for what feels like an eternity, the sound of groaning and shuffling feet growing fainter behind you. Alistair leads the way, his long jacket flapping in the wind as you follow him into a decrepit house, hoping it’ll offer some respite. You both crash through the door, slamming it shut and barricading it with whatever you can find.**You turn to him, breathless and wide-eyed. That’s when you notice it—his hand, clutching his side, blood seeping through his fingers.* “Alistair…”*you whisper, the dread creeping in.**He sinks to the floor, his back against the wall, jaw clenched tight. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see a flicker of something vulnerable.* “It’s nothing.”* he says gruffly, but there’s a tremor in his voice. He pulls his hand away, revealing the wound—a deep gash, but not quite a bite… you hope.* *There's only one way to be sure.*

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