If I were in a situation where I had to meet a pack of wolves and

Host: The rain was thin but cold, falling in silver streaks under the dim glow of a streetlight. The night was quiet, save for the low hum of distant traffic and the occasional rustle of wind sweeping through the wet leaves. Steam rose from the pavement, curling like ghosts around the edges of an old roadside diner.

Inside, the air smelled of coffee and soaked coats. Jack sat by the window, his hands wrapped around a mug, the light cutting sharp angles across his cheekbones. His grey eyes were steady, but heavy — like a man who had seen too much to be surprised anymore. Across from him, Jeeny leaned forward, her hair damp, her eyes glimmering with that same mixture of worry and faith she carried everywhere.

The world outside was a mirror — dark, fragile, waiting.

Jeeny: “You ever think about what you’d do, Jack… if it really came to that? If something wild, something dangerous — came for you?”

Jack: “Every man does, Jeeny. It’s the oldest thought in the book. But I’ll tell you something — when that moment comes, you don’t get to think. You just act.”

Jeeny: “And that’s the measure of a person, isn’t it? What they do when they’re scared. That’s what Jon Seda meant — when he said, ‘If I had to meet a pack of wolves and my family is with me, I’m going to be scared, but I’m not going to hide behind my son. They’re going to hide behind me.’ It’s about courage. About love that stands in front of fear.”

Host: A truck passed outside, headlights flashing briefly through the window, slicing across their faces — her hopeful, his hardened.

Jack: “Courage? Maybe. Or maybe it’s just biology. We protect what we own, what’s ours. The wolf protects its pack, not because it’s noble, but because that’s how nature keeps itself alive.”

Jeeny: “You think love is just biology? You think a parent’s heart is some instinctive reflex — like pulling your hand away from fire?”

Jack: “Instinct’s stronger than love, Jeeny. Love’s what we call it when instinct makes us feel human.”

Host: Her fingers tightened on the cup, the ceramic trembling against the table. For a moment, she stared at him, as if searching for the man behind the words, behind that fortress of reason he always built.

Jeeny: “So when a father in Ukraine throws himself over his child during a bombing, that’s just instinct? When a mother gives up her food in a famine, that’s not love — that’s survival?”

Jack: “Yes. The same survival that drives the lioness to protect her cubs. It’s primitive, automatic, not poetic. We romanticize it because it helps us live with it.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. It’s what transcends the primitive. Because those moments — they’re not about genes. They’re about choice. The choice to be the one who stands in front. The one who doesn’t hide.”

Host: The rain grew harder, drumming against the roof. The lights flickered, briefly casting shadows that made the walls seem to breathe.

Jack: “Choice is a luxury you only have when there’s time to think. In the face of wolves, there’s no poetry, Jeeny. There’s just adrenaline.”

Jeeny: “Then why do some people run while others stay? Why did the firefighters in 9/11 go back into the towers? That wasn’t adrenaline, Jack. That was duty. That was love greater than self.”

Jack: “You’re comparing heroes to ordinary people. Most of us — when the flames rise — we look for a way out, not a way in. That’s the truth.”

Host: The diner door creaked as a gust of wind entered, bringing with it the smell of rain and earth. For a moment, the sound of thunder filled the pause between them like an unspoken argument.

Jeeny: “Maybe you don’t believe in heroes, Jack, but you act like one every time you stay behind at work to fix someone else’s mess, or when you drive your sister home after midnight. You just don’t call it that.”

Jack: “That’s not heroism. That’s responsibility. And responsibility isn’t glamorous — it’s just duty with tired eyes.”

Jeeny: “And that’s exactly what Seda meant. Courage doesn’t need to be glamorous. It’s about doing what needs to be done, even when you’re afraid.”

Host: The steam from her cup rose between them, softening the edges of their faces, making the moment seem like a painting caught between light and shadow.

Jack: “You ever been truly scared, Jeeny? The kind that freezes your chest, that makes your hands useless? People talk about bravery like it’s a switch you turn on, but fear doesn’t work that way.”

Jeeny: “I have. And you’re right — fear doesn’t leave. But that’s the point. Bravery isn’t the absence of fear; it’s the decision to walk through it.”

Jack: “That sounds like something you’d read on a poster.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But it’s also what keeps us from becoming the wolves.”

Host: The wind howled, as if echoing her words, rattling the windowpanes. Jack’s eyes shifted — something flickered behind them: a memory, perhaps. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing for a moment.

Jeeny: “What is it?”

Jack: “When I was twelve… my father got into a fight with a man outside our house. I remember standing there — watching. I didn’t move. He told me later: ‘When fear comes, don’t run. Just stand.’ I never forgot that. But I didn’t stand that day. I just… watched.”

Host: The rain softened. The din of the diner fell to a murmur. Jeeny reached out, her hand resting lightly on his. A simple touch, but it stilled something restless inside him.

Jeeny: “Maybe you were too young to stand then. But you learned what it meant. You became the man who doesn’t hide.”

Jack: “Maybe. Or maybe I just learned to pretend I’m not afraid.”

Jeeny: “Pretending can be the first step to courage, Jack. Sometimes, pretending is what keeps others safe.”

Host: The neon light outside flickered, casting color across the wet glass, splitting their reflections into two ghosts sitting in parallel silence. Jeeny’s eyes softened, her voice quieter now — almost a whisper.

Jeeny: “You see, when Seda said those words, it wasn’t about wolves. It was about being the wall — the one who absorbs the danger so others don’t have to. It’s about being human in the face of fear.”

Jack: “Being human is the hardest part. Animals don’t question themselves after the fight.”

Jeeny: “But we do — and that’s why it matters. Because fear reminds us we’re alive. And love reminds us what’s worth protecting.”

Host: The clock ticked, slow and deliberate, like a heartbeat marking the passing of a truth neither wanted to speak first.

Jack: “You think there’s still something worth protecting in this world?”

Jeeny: “Always. Even if it’s just one person. Even if it’s just the memory of who we were before the wolves came.”

Host: Jack smiled faintly, a tired, wounded smile, like a man who hadn’t smiled in a long time. He looked down at his hands, calloused, scarred, and steady.

Jack: “Maybe that’s enough then. Standing in front — not because you’re brave, but because someone has to.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s courage. Not absence of fear — but presence of love.”

Host: The rain stopped. The streetlights shone on wet asphalt, reflecting the pale sky above. Somewhere, a dog barked, a car engine hummed to life, and the world continued — fragile, beautiful, untamed.

Inside the diner, Jack and Jeeny sat in silence, their mugs empty, their hearts quieter. Between them, an understanding had formed — not spoken, but felt, like the warmth that lingers long after the storm has passed.

And as the first light of dawn broke across the wet horizon, the wolves, real or imagined, seemed a little farther away.