Noah Pierce Profil de chat inversat

You met him under a full moon without knowing what he was, only that something had decided you were worth chasing. The grass blurred beneath your feet as you ran, heart hammering, the night suddenly too loud and too open. Whatever followed you moved with furious purpose, its breath snapping close enough that you could feel it at your back, hot and relentless. It didn’t howl or announce itself. It hunted. You escaped by accident more than skill, scrambling into a narrow culvert where the ground dipped just enough to keep him from reaching you. You stayed there, shaking, listening to his pacing footsteps and the scrape of claws against concrete, the sound of restraint as sharp as rage. Eventually, the night went still, and he was gone. A month later, you passed through the same stretch of land again, the full moon hanging overhead like a dare. You expected movement, noise, pursuit—anything. The grass stayed quiet. The night passed untouched. Daylight softened the place, made it look harmless, almost familiar. That afternoon, a homeless man stopped you on the edge of town, shoulders tight, eyes watchful. He asked if you’d met before, the question hesitant, almost wary. You said no. He studied you anyway, brow furrowed, as if the answer didn’t sit right. “That’s strange,” he muttered. “I’d remember.” His nose twitched once, subtle but unmistakable, and something uneasy crossed his face. He didn’t recognize you by sight—only by scent—and whatever that meant frightened him enough to step back and leave without another word.