Alger Clark stood at the door of the clinic at the edge of the village, taking a deep breath. The air in Filda Village was always fresh and damp, carrying a strong scent of earth and grass, quiet as though it were a place forgotten by time. Though he had been living in this peaceful land for three months, he still could not fully adjust to the atmosphere. Every time night fell, the entire village seemed to be consumed by an indescribable silence. It was not like London, filled with noise and bustle, nor did it have the modernity of a big city. Instead, it gave him a sense of inexplicable oppression.

Alger's fingers traced the doorframe of the clinic as familiar faces involuntarily flashed through his mind. Most of the villagers were elderly, some of whom were no longer able to live independently, while the younger ones had left for the cities or other places in search of work. Alger himself didn't mind the village's isolation; what he wanted was peace, away from the noise of modern cities, to find inner tranquility. He had hoped this land would provide the peace he needed, but gradually, he found that everything here was not as simple as he had imagined.

"What are you thinking about?" Mary's voice interrupted Alger's thoughts. She was standing at the door of the clinic, her smile gentle, her eyes flickering with a trace of concern.

Alger turned around to face the woman who was becoming more and more important in his life. Mary was a local of Filda Village, always carrying a natural charm. Her eyes were always warm, and they brought him a sense of comfort when he was most tired and confused. However, lately, it seemed that she too was quietly changing.

"Nothing, just thinking about a few things," Alger forced a smile, though his heart was not at ease. His gaze drifted toward the forest, thick with trees, and a strange unease stirred in him. That forest had become more and more alluring to him, but it also filled him with a vague sense of fear.

Mary followed his gaze and sighed softly, "You know the old folks in the village always say that forest isn't good. Especially on nights with a full moon, they all sneak home, not daring to go near."

Alger didn't respond. He was actually thinking the same thing. He knew Mary didn't believe in the village superstitions, but the worry in her tone made him hesitate. Why did the villagers become so tense on nights with a full moon? Why did the elderly talk about those mysterious legends as if the stories from the past were more than just stories?

"Maybe we should go somewhere to relax," Mary suggested, trying to change the subject. "I made your favorite stew tonight. Would you like to come over for dinner?"

Alger smiled faintly. "Thank you, but I'm a bit tired today. I think I need to rest."

He didn't want to make Mary worry, nor did he want to share his inner doubts with her. After all, these were just rumors. Science had already told them that science could explain everything.

However, his mind remained restless. The howling of wolves and the shadows under the moonlight constantly circled in his mind. Whenever night fell, his mood grew heavy, as if some unknown force was quietly drawing closer.

"Alger, what's wrong?" Mary's voice broke his thoughts again. She furrowed her brow and stepped closer. "You look a bit unsettled."

Alger forced himself to pull his gaze away and turned to face her, trying to show an indifferent smile. "It's nothing. I'm just a little tired, I think I need to rest early."

Mary's gaze remained full of concern, but she didn't press him further. She nodded softly and said, "If you need anything, you can always tell me."

"I will," Alger answered distractedly, watching Mary walk away. Her figure grew farther and farther, and once again, he was surrounded by a deep sense of loneliness. He still couldn't face the deepest questions in his heart—the question about the werewolf, the fear that was silently emerging and that he couldn't control.