Reed stepped closer, the weight of Helena's words settling over the room.
"A monster," he said quietly — not disbelief, but confirmation laced with fatigue.
Dr. Kell gave a grim hum. "No question about it. Three ridges, wide apart. You can see where the claws raked through the muscle. Whatever it was, it got him good before it lost interest."
Reed's eyes swept over the mangled arm, his brow furrowing. The bandages couldn't hide the swelling. "Lucky it did lose interest. Another few seconds, and he'd be missing that arm." His tone hardened. "But why stop midway? Which thing leaves its prey alive?"
"None that I'd trust to remember why," Helena said, voice clipped. "We haven't had a sighting in months. I was starting to think we'd gotten a break." Her jaw tightened. "Now it looks like something wandered in. How long ago, Doctor?"
Kell rubbed at the corner of his eye. "Recent. The tearing's fresh. Blood hadn't dried when they brought him in. Maybe it followed the river—creatures do that, especially when the rains push them downstream."
Reed's gaze flicked toward the curtained window. "Any idea what kind?"
Helena shook her head. "Not yet. I'll need tracks or blood to be sure. But from the spacing, maybe a drake or a crawler. Rank three at worst. Big enough to rip through a man, small enough to sneak past the outer watch." Her voice dipped lower. "Still doesn't explain why it stopped."
The man on the bed stirred, letting out a low groan that cut through the room. Reed's hand drifted toward his weapon out of habit, but the movement faded as the man went still again.
Kell leaned in to check the bandages. "He'll live, if infection doesn't take him first. But their wounds never heal clean. You think a man's fine, then the fever comes back, and by the third day you're digging a grave."
Reed nodded once, jaw tight. "That's because they carry rot. Claws drag it in."
Helena's gaze stayed fixed on the patient. "Exactly why we can't leave it be. We'll report to the chief first, then lock down the outskirts. No one leaves town after dusk."
The silence that followed wasn't hesitation — it was calculation. The air smelled of iron, herbs, and something else: the faint, sour trace of fear.
Reed straightened. "You want me to mark the perimeter?"
"Tomorrow morning," Helena said. "It's too late now, and we don't know where it went. We'll start from the bridge and sweep east toward the forest line. If it's feeding, it won't have gone far."
Reed flexed his hand against his belt. He'd been hoping for a quiet day — but quiet didn't last when monsters came this close. They weren't catastrophes anymore, just interruptions. Ugly reminders that safety here was always borrowed.
Kell cleared his throat. "If you find it, don't bring the body back. Burn it where it falls."
Reed's reply came short and sure. "Understood."
Helena was already tugging on her gloves as she turned for the door. "Let's move. The chief will want a full report before dark — the station's going to be a mess tonight."
When Reed followed her out, the afternoon light felt wrong against his skin — too bright, too thin. The village still sounded alive: a cart rumbling past, a blacksmith's hammer ringing somewhere down the road. But beneath all that movement was a stillness he could feel rather than hear.
People would keep working, keep pretending nothing had changed. But every glance toward the woods, every door latched early, would say the same thing.
Not again.
Reed adjusted his coat, the weight of his weapon steady at his side. Monster attacks weren't rare enough to be myth — but never common enough to feel routine. Every time they came close, the village remembered how to hold its breath.
And now, it would again.
---
The chief's office smelled faintly of paper, lamp oil, and the cheap tobacco he refused to give up. Chief Warren sat behind his desk, pen still in hand when Reed and Helena entered. The man didn't look up immediately; he finished his note first, set the pen aside, then leaned back in his chair with a quiet exhale.
"You're late," he said. His voice wasn't sharp, just heavy, like someone too used to bad news.
Helena closed the door behind her. "We had to make sure the patient was stable before leaving. It's confirmed, sir—a monster attack."
That got his attention. Warren's brow furrowed. "Type?"
"Still uncertain," Helena replied. "Three-clawed pattern, deep ridges, clean tear lines. Rank three, possibly a crawler or drake."
Warren muttered something under his breath, then reached for the ledger on his desk. "Half a year without an incident, and now this." He flipped the pages briskly, stopping at a column labeled Rural Quadrant—Southern Route. "That's near the trade road, isn't it?"
Reed nodded. "About two miles off the main bridge. The victim says he was collecting reeds near the river before it hit him. Lost consciousness before he saw its shape."
Warren sighed through his nose and scribbled a note. "Unreliable witness, then. Wonderful."
Helena crossed her arms. "We'll check the tracks tomorrow morning. I've already told Reed to start restricting movement near the forest edge."
Warren grunted approval but didn't look up. "Good. Make sure word spreads, but quietly. Last thing I need is the merchants pulling their wagons or the farmers refusing to till." He paused, tapping his pen. "And you're sure it didn't finish him off?"
Reed shook his head. "Looks like it lost interest. Left him half-alive."
"That's worse," Warren said flatly. "Means it wasn't feeding. Means it was wandering."
The words landed with a low weight. Monsters that fed could be tracked; monsters that wandered didn't stay predictable.
Warren rubbed his temples. "Alright. I'll notify Central Patrol and request an inspection team, though you know how that'll go. They'll take three days to send a letter and four more to decide whether it's 'significant enough' to bother."
Helena's mouth tightened. "So it's on us for now."
"As always," he said dryly. Then, quieter, "You two know the drill. I want confirmation before dawn tomorrow. If it's still in range, we handle it before the next caravan passes through."
Reed gave a curt nod. "Understood."
Helena saluted briefly and turned to leave.
"Wait," Warren said. "If you find it—no trophies, no heroics. Just kill it and burn the remains. And for God's sake, keep the civilians away from the site."
Helena didn't answer. She just gave a short nod before stepping out. Reed lingered a moment longer, watching the chief's weary expression under the lamplight.
Warren finally looked up. "You've done this enough times to know what happens if word spreads too fast."
Reed's jaw tightened. "Panic before reason."
"Exactly. Keep it quiet until we're sure it's gone."
Reed gave a short "Yes, sir," and followed Helena out.
The door shut softly behind him, muffling the sound of Warren's pen scratching back to life—more reports, more paperwork to explain why the world refused to stay still.
Outside, the hall smelled of dust and warm air. Reed adjusted his coat and glanced at Helena. She didn't speak, and neither did he. They didn't need to.
Another day, another hunt.
Just part of the job—one that never really ended.