The Wolf And The Fox

Chapter 2: The Purple Stain

Wolf woke up the next morning to a beam of sunlight cutting through the gap in his curtains, slicing across his face. He groaned, turning over and pulling the pillow over his head, but sleep wouldn't come back. His mind was already racing, pulled back to the strange events of the night before. Slowly, reluctantly, he rolled out of bed and dragged himself to the bathroom, not looking at his hands, hoping that maybe—just maybe—the purple stain on his fingers had disappeared overnight.

No such luck. The smoky purple tint was still there, marking the tips of his fingers like a permanent stain, a reminder that something strange had happened. He scrubbed at them again, but it was no use. The color wasn't going anywhere.

"Great," he muttered to himself, rubbing his face with frustration. "Just what I needed."

Resigned, Wolf made himself a quick cup of coffee and lit a cigarette, leaning against the counter while it brewed. He inhaled deeply, but the unease from the night before still lingered. The smell of the coffee and smoke together was comforting, but his mind was too tangled with questions to fully enjoy the ritual.

He grabbed the steaming cup of coffee and took a long sip, feeling the bitter warmth wash over him. It helped. Slightly. At least enough to face the day. He stubbed out the cigarette, threw on a grey hoodie and a pair of worn jeans he'd fished out of the closet. After giving them a quick sniff, he shrugged. Fresh enough. He tugged the hoodie sleeves over his hands, hoping no one would notice the odd purple tint.

By the time he arrived at Maeve's Booknook, Wolf was feeling a little more awake, if not less worried. The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside, and the familiar scent of old books and wood polish washed over him. Maeve was behind the counter, arranging a stack of hardcovers, her hair messier than usual but in a way that seemed deliberate.

"Morning, Wulfric," she greeted, glancing up with a sharp smile. "You look like hell."

"Morning, Maeve," Wolf grunted, rolling his eyes at her use of his full name. She was the only one who ever called him that, and he supposed he allowed it because she'd known him long enough to get away with it. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Maeve raised an eyebrow, her gaze sweeping over him. "You brush your beard yet?"

Wolf groaned, running a hand through his full beard. "I'll get to it."

Maeve chuckled, but something in her eyes sharpened as she passed him a cup of coffee. "Did you sleep well?"

"Sort of," Wolf replied, avoiding her gaze as he accepted the coffee. He took a sip, grateful for the distraction. "You know how it is."

Her smile softened, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I do," she said, a touch too casually. "Anything on your mind?"

Wolf gave a noncommittal shrug, keeping his hands buried in his hoodie pockets. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

Maeve eyed him for a moment longer than usual, her lips twitching like she was suppressing a knowing smirk. "Alright," she said, but Wolf could tell she didn't quite believe him. "Slow day ahead. Might give you time to think. Or brush that beard. Whichever comes first."

He shot her a half-hearted glare before retreating into the shelves, grateful to escape the conversation. Maeve always seemed to know when something was up, but today, her curiosity felt especially pointed. He spent the morning rearranging books, pretending to be more focused on his task than he actually was, trying to keep his hands hidden whenever she passed by.

It was just after noon when the bell above the door jingled again. Wolf glanced up from behind a shelf and spotted a new customer stepping in.

The guy couldn't have been much older than Wolf—mid-twenties, with long, dark blonde, ginger-ish hair pulled into a low ponytail. He had the same kind of stocky build Wolf did, maybe even the same height, and there was something about his features—the full beard, the way his clothes hung slightly oversized, casual but comfortable. If Wolf didn't know any better, he'd think they were almost... alike. Too alike. It was an unsettling realization.