The first thing Xenia noticed when they dragged the Wild Man into the cabin was not the blood. Not the torn clothes. Not even the limp.
It was the smell.
Like roadkill had bathed in onion soup mix and then rolled through a dorm bathroom during finals week. If grief, sweat, and forest mildew had a baby—it was this man.
"Jesus Christ," she muttered, choking back a gag as she set Rhys down. "Somebody hose him down before he triggers another apocalypse."
But instinct overpowered disgust. Always did. That annoying first-aid badge she earned in undergrad was basically tattooed on her soul at this point. So she rolled up her sleeves, grabbed the alcohol, and mentally prepared to scrub a human compost bin.
---
Rafe and Caleb propped Wild Man onto the cot like he was a busted scarecrow. His leg was dripping a mix of blood and regret. His shirt was shredded like he had picked a fight with gravity and lost badly.
"Don't move," Xenia barked, snapping on a pair of gloves like she was in a zombie-themed Grey's Anatomy.
"I'm in pain," Wild Man groaned. "How much more still can a guy be?"
"Well unless you want me to pour vinegar on your spleen by accident, hold still."
She doused the gash with alcohol. He shrieked like a banshee. Rhys, from his cradle, let out a sympathetic grunt and then promptly farted.
"You and me both, buddy," Xenia muttered, wiping the wound clean. "I feel like I've been parenting the undead all month."
---
As the others filtered in, the room turned from medical scene to reunion sitcom. Caleb leaned against the wall like a sexy shadow. Rafe brooded near the doorway, arms crossed like he was auditioning for a cologne commercial called Angry and Moist. Marga flopped onto a bench with a tuber in one hand and judgment in the other.
"You chased a dog?" she asked, eyebrow cocked with Olympic precision.
"Yeah," Wild Man rasped. "Black fur. Bright eyes. Looked clean. Barked at me. I followed it to the cliffs—figured maybe it wasn't infected. Maybe I could catch it. Instead, I fell on a rock and cracked my dignity in half."
"That explains the limp," Rico chimed in, slipping in through the back. "Doesn't explain why you vanished for two days like a cryptid."
"I called for help!" Wild Man snapped. "I yelled, I screamed. Nobody came."
A beat of silence.
Then Gabriel, ever the dad of the group, stepped forward with a clean rag. "We didn't give up on you," he said quietly. "We just didn't hear you."
The gruff facade cracked.
Wild Man blinked hard. His voice dropped into something raw. "I thought I got left behind. Again."
Oof. Emotional gut punch. Right between the eye-rolls.
Even Xenia paused, hands hovering mid-bandage, suddenly aware that under the grime and bad decisions was… well, a person. A lonely, stinky, deeply unlucky person.
She sighed. "Look. Just don't chase strange animals again. Or cliffs. Or death."
Rafe grinned faintly. "And no more zombie dog adventures. We're full up on weirdos."
"Speak for yourself," Marga added. "I like having a feral man in the lineup. Keeps things interesting."
"You're all psychos," Wild Man muttered, but there was a smile tugging at his lips now. "But… thanks."
"Welcome back," Rico said, patting his arm. "We even saved you some fish stew. It tastes like betrayal, but it's hot."
---
As the night settled and the drama deflated into laughter and the clinking of tin cups, Xenia curled beside Rhys, blanket wrapped tight around them both. The baby stirred, tiny fists bumping the air like he was ready to fight for his next meal.
She looked down at him, eyes softer now.
"See?" she whispered. "Even the ones who run off get found. Even the wild ones."
Rhys yawned, a gummy smile flashing across his sleepy face.
And just like that, her heart cracked open again.
It was stupid. Dangerous. Sentimental.
But it was hope. And it was hers.
---
At the door, Caleb cleared his throat.
"I should go," he said, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. "Before the woods forget I'm not prey."
Gabriel gave him a two-finger salute. Rico muttered something vaguely threatening. Rafe said nothing—just watched, stone-faced, but with eyes that tracked Caleb like he was a spreadsheet error that refused to go away.
Caleb's gaze shifted to Xenia.
He didn't smile with his mouth. Just his eyes. Quiet. Steady. Like he saw something in her and wasn't afraid to come back for it.
"See you again, Xenia."
She nodded. Almost imperceptibly. But her lips twitched.
"Bring soap next time."
And then he was gone—vanishing into the wind and the branches, leaving behind a wild man who'd been saved, a dog who'd started a quest, and a camp that still, somehow, stood.