chapter 2: The Clinic File

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16:9 (horizontal) -    • 🌕 London’s Full Moon Hunt 🐺 | A Chilling W...  
9:16 (vertical) -    • 🌕 London’s Full Moon Hunt 🐺 | A Chilling W...  
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The next night, I pushed him to get the scratch looked at. He argued, but his face had that tight, sick look people get when they are losing control and trying not to show it.

We ended up in a small clinic that stayed open late for tourists and night workers. The hallway smelled like disinfectant and weak coffee. A woman in scrubs met us at the counter. Her eyes were sharp in a way that made me feel like she could read the truth off my skin.

She looked at his hand, then at his face, then at the moonlit window behind him. Her expression shifted, just for a second.

“Has he had fevers?” she asked me, not him.

He answered before I could. “No. I’m fine.”

But he wasn’t. His skin looked too pale, and his jaw kept tightening like he was biting back words. Or something else.

The nurse stepped away to get forms. I watched him stare at the floor as if it was moving.

I shouldn’t have done it. I know that. But when the nurse returned and left a folder on the counter, the top page slid out just enough for me to see a heading.

Lycantropic Episodes.

I froze. My mind tried to explain it away: a joke, a code, a strange medical term I misunderstood. But the word sat there, clear as day.

When I reached for the paper, he grabbed my wrist.

“Don’t,” he whispered. His voice shook like it hurt to speak.

The nurse came back, saw our faces, and stopped in the doorway like she had walked into the wrong story.