Page 119 of Mine To Hunt

The flat feels different without him inside it. Larger, but also more exposed. I stand slowly and move through each room, locking everything again even though I know it is already secured.

The front door. The windows. The balcony latch. I pull the curtains tight and stand there for a moment, listening to the faint hum of the city outside.

I open the camera feed on my phone and turn it on. The hallway is empty. No shadows lingering. No obvious movement.

Another message arrives after half an hour.‘You think he can remove everyone?’

My breath stills for a second. He is watching. But this time, instead of panic flooding me completely, something else settles beneath it. Something colder. More deliberate.

Maybe the stalker believes he is the one controlling the board. Maybe he doesn’t realize there is another predator already in play.

I sit back down on the edge of the bed, the phone resting loosely in my hand. I am afraid. But I am no longer powerless. And that changes the shape of fear entirely.

Chapter 36

Him

The door closes softly behind me, and the sound echoes longer than it should. For a moment, I stand still, listening to the silence settle.

Inside that flat, Iris is alone with her fear and the image burned into her mind. Outside, I am alone with something else entirely, a man who has decided to study me.

The air outside the building is cool, sharp against my skin. I inhale slowly, letting it steady me. I do not rush. I do not show irritation. But inside, something has shifted. He did not only send that message to scare her. He sent it to reach me. To show me that he can see what I do.

That he can analyze my movements. That he can step into a space I considered controlled. I begin with the perimeter of her building.

The bushes near the entrance are dense, thick enough to hide a small lens or audio device. I move carefully, parting the leaves one section at a time.

My gloved fingers check the base of the stems, the soil beneath, the angles that would provide a clean line of sight toward the door. If he captured that photo clearly, he positioned himself deliberately. That means preparation. It means patience.

I find nothing. No wires. No reflective surfaces. No disturbed soil. I walk toward the alley beside the building next.

The alley is narrow, the walls close enough to trap echoes. I scan the ground slowly. Tire marks. Footprints. Scratches along the wall where someone may have leaned. I crouch and run my hand across the concrete, feeling for loose debris that does not belong. A cigarette filter. A broken piece of plastic. Anything.

Still nothing. He is careful. That realization does not frustrate me. It sharpens me. Because careful men still make mistakes especially when emotions begin to guide them.

I cross the street and approach the building opposite hers.

I bought it the week I learned she lived here. I remember the real estate agent’s confusion when I asked specific questions about window angles and sight lines instead of interior design.

I calculated everything before signing. From the second floor, I can see into her living room, kitchen, and bedroom. Not perfectly, but enough.

At the time, I justified it as hunting. Now I recognize it for what it truly was. Territory.

I unlock the main door and step inside. The building remains mostly unused, which is exactly how I prefer it. No unnecessary noise. No unpredictable neighbors. My footsteps echo lightly as I climb the stairs and enter the room I prepared months ago.

The curtains are positioned precisely. The chair is angled toward the window. The equipment rests neatly on the desk, laptop, external drive, long-range lens, monitoring devices.

I move to the window first.

From here, I can see her bedroom clearly. The light is still on. She lies on her bed, staring at her phone as if it might attack her again. Even at this distance, I can read her stress signals. Her shoulders are rigid. Her jaw tight. She shifts every few seconds, unable to settle.

Her fear is real. And it is because of him. I sit at the desk and open my laptop.

Earlier, when she handed me her phone, I used the few seconds she was focused on panic to install what I needed. A silent monitoring application. Invisible. No icon. No battery drain pattern that would raise suspicion. It runs quietly beneath everything else.

Now I complete the structure. I connect my device and begin mirroring her incoming SMS traffic. Every message she receives will duplicate to me instantly.

I set filters for the anonymous number, prioritizing it so it overrides all other notifications. I log metadata, timestamps, routing nodes, delivery intervals. Timing matters. Latency matters.