Page 10 of Mine To Hunt

Maddie's hand grips my arm, her nails digging in just enough to ground me. "Ree? You okay?"

"I… Uh, yeah, sorry." I manage, my voice pitching high and unsteady. "Just need the washroom. Be right back."

I don't wait for permission, bolting for the door with the chit crumpled in my fist, the weight of all those eyes burning into my back like brands.

The hallway blurs as I push into the nearest bathroom, the door banging shut behind me. I lean against the sink, breaths coming in short gasps that fog the mirror.

Who is doing this? The question loops, frantic and unanswered, as I stare at my reflection. Eyes wide, cheeks flushed, looking every bit the cornered animal I feel like.

The chit feels like poison in my hand, that casual,I know you skipped breakfast,slicing deeper than any threat because it's intimate, it's proof someone's watching every move, every empty moment.

I unwrap the sandwich halfway, just to confirm it's real, and the smell of bread and meat turns my stomach, bile rising sharp.

With shaking hands, I shove it all into the bin. The chit, the food, the wrapper and watch it disappear under crumpled paper towels like burying evidence. But it doesn't bury the fear. It amplifies it, a roar in my ears that drowns out the drip of the tap.

I pull out my phone, thumb hovering over the screen as I dial 999. One call, that's all it would take. Tell them about the texts, the sandwich, the way dread has wrapped around my ribs and squeezed. My finger hovers over the call button, heart pounding so hard I swear it echoes off the tiles.

Do it, Iris. Just do it.

But before I can press, my phone buzzes in my grip, the screen lighting up with another text from that same unknown number. I swipe it open, and the words freeze me solid.‘Involve the police, and your friends won't be safe either.’

The threat lands like a punch, casual in its cruelty, and my vision blurs as hot tears prick my eyes. Maddie. Al. Their faces flash. Her laugh at lunch, his quiet worry yesterday. And the idea of this monster reaching for them twists something deep inside me, protective and vicious.

No. I can't. The phone slips from my fingers, clattering into the sink, and I snatch it back up, thumbs flying to block the number, as if that simple swipe erases the shadow it's cast.

The bell rings then, shrill and insistent, jolting me from the spiral. I splash water on my face, pat it dry with rough paper towels that scrape my skin, and force my expression neutral before stepping out.

The hallway floods with students, chatter rising like a wave, but Maddie and Al spot me immediately, pushing through the crowd with matching frowns of worry.

“Alright, Ree. What is it?” Maddie demands as they reach me, her arm linking through mine like a lifeline. "You bolted like the building was on fire. What happened there?"

Al nods, his eyes scanning my face as if he can read the fear etched there. "Yeah, you look spooked."

I swallow hard, pasting on a smile that feels brittle and wrong, but it's all I have to deflect the concern swelling in my chest.

"It's nothing, guys. Really. I think I ate something funny at home. Bad yogurt or whatever. Hit me out of nowhere, and I just needed to... you know, handle it." The joke falls flat even to me, but I force a laugh, light and dismissive, praying they buy it.

Maddie tilts her head, not convinced, her grip tightening on my arm. "Bad yogurt? Come on, Ree. You've been off since yesterday. Tell us, we can…"

"It’s nothing." I cut in, sharper than I mean, then soften it with a squeeze of her hand. "I'm fine. Promise. Let's just get to the next class before we all flunk attendance."

Al chuckles, but it's gentle, his hand brushing my shoulder in that friendly way that eases the knot in my throat just a fraction. "Alright, tough lady. But if the yogurt rebels again, I'm staging an intervention. Yogurt police, at your service."

We walk together, their banter picking up. But my mind drifts, the fear a constant hum under my skin. The entire day stretches like that, classes blending into a haze where I nod at theright times but absorb nothing, my pen scratching meaningless doodles in the margins.

Prof. Sterling drones on about character arcs in the afternoon seminar, her voice a distant buzz as I stare at my notebook, the words‘who is he?’looping in my head.

Someone with access to the uni. That much is clear, slipping chits under desks like a ghost.

But how did he know about breakfast? That empty kitchen mocking me? Does that mean eyes in my house too, watching Ryan leave, noting my rush? The thought sends ice through my veins, a violation so deep it makes my skin crawl, every corner of our flat suddenly suspect.

And the police thing? How? I was alone in that bathroom, door locked, phone in my hand for seconds. Tapped? Hacked? The paranoia builds, layer by layer, until my chest aches with it, breaths shallow as I imagine whispers in the wires, shadows in the walls.

By the time the final bell rings, I feel wrung out in a way sleep never fixes. I say goodbye to Maddie and Al with a smile that feels borrowed and walk through the day like I am carrying something heavy inside my chest and wait for Ryan to pick me up.

I wait outside the uni building. My phone rests in my hand, screen dark, but my fingers keep tightening around it like I am bracing for impact. I had blocked the number earlier, convinced that it was the right thing to do, that it was a small act of control in a situation where I have none. For a moment, I almost believed it worked.

Then the vibration hits. It is sharp and sudden, and my stomach drops before I even look. A new number. Of course it is. My breathing turns shallow as I open the message, already knowing I should not, already knowing I will anyway. There is no warning, no taunting sentence to soften the blow. Just a message. Just proof.