“Mom… I’m cold.”

Then, the boy went limp again, falling into a deep, exhausted sleep. But he was breathing.

Arthur sat there, holding a stranger’s child as the clock struck midnight, signaling Christmas Day. He didn’t know who this boy was, but as he looked at the bruises on the boy’s wrists—bruises that looked suspiciously like finger marks—Arthur Sterling felt a familiar fire ignite in his belly. The Sheriff was back on duty.

Chapter 2: The Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

The plow trucks didn’t make it up Arthur’s road until 10:00 AM. By then, the storm had broken, leaving the world buried under three feet of pristine, deceptive white.

Arthur had spent the night awake, feeding the boy spoonfuls of warm broth every hour. The child, who Arthur found out was named Leo thanks to a stitched label in his parka, was awake now but silent. He sat on Arthur’s sofa, staring blankly at the wall, clutching the wool blanket with a death grip. He wouldn’t speak. He wouldn’t cry. He just existed.

When the flashing lights of the State Police cruiser finally appeared in the driveway, Arthur walked out to meet them.