Page 18 of Mine To Hunt

I recognize the bathroom instantly. I recognize the moment. I freeze as understanding crashes down on me all at once.

Someone did not just watch me. Someone recorded me. Someone was inside my space.

I drop the phone as if it has burned me. My breath comes shallow and uneven, my skin crawling beneath the towel as panic surges through me.

My thoughts spiral wildly, grasping for explanations that only make things worse. I think of the anonymous number, of the messages, of Ryan, and then I force myself to stop because I cannot handle where that thought leads.

I make myself look up.

The angle plays over and over in my head, guiding my eyes higher, above the sink, toward the narrow cupboard shelf I have never questioned before.

I drag a stool over with shaking hands and climb onto it, my heart pounding so loudly it feels like it might give me away. I sweep my hand across the top, expecting nothing and dreading everything.

My fingers brush past dust and folded towels, and then they close around something small, hard, and unmistakably wrong. It is a tiny camera.

The lens catches the light, and a faint red blink confirms what I already know. This is real. This was planted here. And it’s still recording. My fear sharpens into rage as I rip it free from the wall and slam it down onto the counter. The casing cracks under the force.

The damage does nothing to calm me. All I can think about is the video, about where it might be now, about how long I have been watched without knowing.

I dress as fast as I can, pulling on a pant and a t-shirt with a light jacket, choosing loose fabric that hides how much I am shaking. I grab my phone again and text Maddie that I am on my way, that I need to talk, asking if the door is unlocked.

Her reply comes immediately, full of alarm, telling me yes and that Al is on his way there too.

It is Saturday. There are no classes, no routines to cling to, no normal day waiting for me. There is only this moment and the need to get out. I grab my keys and nothing else. When I close the door behind me, I lock it quietly, as if any sound might follow me.

Maddie is an hour away, and that hour feels impossibly long. Still, it is a direction. It is distance. It is safety, at least for now.

Chapter 7

Her

Istand outside Maddie's door, my knuckles rapping against the wood three times before I can talk myself out of it. My heart pounds in my chest like it's trying to escape, each beat a reminder of the nightmare that's swallowed my life whole over the past few days.

The shower video, that grainy clip of me stepping out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, oblivious to the hidden camera, arrived just an hour ago, attached to a text that made my stomach churn with violation and rage.

I couldn't stay in that flat alone, not with Ryan's betrayal still fresh and the stalker's eyes everywhere. Maddie is my safe harbor, the one person who won't judge, so here I am, knocking louder now because waiting feels like drowning.

The door swings open, and Maddie's face appears, her blonde waves pulled back in a messy ponytail that does nothing to hide the worry creasing her brow.

She takes one look at me, eyes red from crying, jacket clutched tight around my middle like armor, and pulls me into a hug before I can even speak.

“Ree. Oh my God, get in here.” Her voice is thick with concern as she steps aside, but the moment she sees my face properly, she freezes. “Iris… what the hell? Did Ryan do this to you?”

She quickly moves aside, guiding me inside. “Come on, sit down before you collapse.”

I step inside, the door clicking shut behind me, and that's when I spot Al on the couch, his long legs stretched out and a sketchpad balanced on his knee. He looks up from whatever he's doodling, his easy smile fading the second he sees my face.

"Iris? Shit, what's going on?" He asks, tossing the pad aside and standing up in one fluid motion.

His eyes flick between Maddie and me, reading the tension like it's written in bold letters. "You texted us that cryptic 'need to talk' an hour ago. Is it Ryan again?"

Maddie guides me to the armchair across from the couch, her hand firm on my elbow as if she's afraid I'll bolt.

She lives alone in this sleek flat her dad set her up with. Montclair Industries, the massive tech conglomerate her family runs, has more money than they know what to do with, but Maddie insisted on her own space freshman year, tired of the family estate feeling like a museum.

Her father caved, of course, buying her this place outright with all the bells and whistles, but she's made it her own with theater posters and mismatched throw pillows that scream independence. Right now, though, none of that registers. I'm just grateful for the familiarity of her hovering.

I sink into the chair, my legs folding under me as exhaustion hits like a wave.