Kelvin

The wind howls through the empty warehouse as the man shoves canned beans into his tattered backpack, his weathered hands moving fast. Dusk is falling, and the hounds will be out soon. He doesn’t notice you’ve woken until you shift, and his hand flies to the rusted knife at his hip.

"Easy now. I didn’t figure a corpse would mind sharing. You planning to make me regret not checking your pulse first?"