Page 5 of Mine To Hunt

"So," Maddie says around a chip, "weekend plans? I'm rehearsing that monologue till I puke, but Saturday night's open. Movie marathon?"

Al nods, breaking off a chunk of his biscuit. "I'm in, but only if it's horror. Need some real scares after that critique."

I smile, fork spearing a tomato. "Horror? You scream at jump cuts, Al."

"Lies." He shoots back, but his eyes crinkle. "Okay, fine. Rom-coms. But if there's one more meet-cute in a coffee shop, I'm out."

Maddie's laughing when Al does it. Breaks off the bigger half of his biscuit and slides it across the table to me without a word. It's automatic, like breathing. Chocolate chips glint under the lights, still warm from the oven.

My chest tightens, a familiar ache. He does this all the time. Shares his food, fixes my scarf when it's crooked, listens when I ramble about plot holes at midnight. Al's liked me since the first semester, I know it. The way his gaze lingers, soft around the edges. The quiet offers, never pushy.

"Thanks." I murmur, taking it. Our fingers brush, and he pulls back quick, like it's nothing. But Maddie catches it. She's across from us, chewing slower now, her green eyes flicking between us with that knowing smile. The one that says,‘See? Told you.’

I pop a piece in my mouth, the sweetness cloying against the sudden lump in my throat. Al's great. He’s funny, steady, the guy who'd drop everything if I needed him.

But it's not there for me. Not the spark, the pull that makes your stomach flip. I've tried seeing it, forcing it during late-night talks or group hangs. Nothing. Just warmth, like sunlight on skin.

And then there's Ryan. My boyfriend of eight months. Ryan Matthew Reed, with his easy laugh and charisma. I’m not entirely sure if what I feel for him is love. But he was there when I needed someone the most, when the world felt a little too heavy to carry alone. Sometimes that feels like enough.

"Earth to Ree." Al says, waving a hand in front of my face. "You zoning again? Biscuit that bad?"

I blink, swallowing the bite. "No, it's perfect. Just... thinking about Ryan. He might swing by later."

Maddie's smile softens, but the knowing edge lingers. "Ryan, huh? Tell him to bring pizza next time. Al's biscuits are good, but they don't count as dinner."

Al smiles, but there's a quick flicker. Gone before I can name it. "Yeah, invite the golden boy. I'll behave."

The table falls into easy chatter after that. Maddie recounts a disastrous rehearsal where her co-star flubbed lines so bad it turned into improv. "Swear, the director almost cried. But wesalvaged it. Ended up with this weird vampire soliloquy that slayed."

Al leans in, pizza half-gone. "Vampires? Okay, now I'm jealous. My sculptures are lucky if they don't collapse mid-critique. Last one? Looked like a drunk giraffe."

I laugh, chiming in. "Better than my last story draft. Protagonist's motivation? Nonexistent. Felt like I was writing a grocery list."

"Send it over." Al says, serious now. "I'll read. Fresh eyes."

Maddie's nodding. "Me too. We can workshop it on Saturday with some beer and red pens."

It's nice, this. The give-and-take, the way they pull me into their orbits. Friendship is like a safety net, catching the slips. But under it, that prickle from earlier stirs again, faint but insistent. Like a draft in a sealed room. I shake it off, focusing on the biscuit's melt in my mouth.

My phone buzzes then, vibrating against my thigh. I fish it out, expecting Ryan to send a heart emoji, maybe, or a dumb meme.

But the screen lights up with an unknown number. No name, just digits I don't recognize. My fork pauses mid-air, a chill slinking down my spine. It's the third one this week. First was a blank message, then a blurry photo of... nothing, really. Campus quad, maybe. But this? My thumb hovers, heart thudding harder now.

"Ree?" Maddie's voice floats in, distant. "You okay? You look like you saw a ghost."

I force a nod, but my eyes are glued to the screen. "Yeah, just... spam." Lies. The word tastes sour. I swipe it open, the text popping up stark against the glow.

‘You look beautiful in blue.’

Blue. My shirt? It's denim, faded to that soft wash, hanging loose over my frame. How? Who? The words blur for a second, then sharpen, each letter a needle prick. Fear blooms cold in my gut, spreading like ink in water. Not anger, not confusion. Just pure, icy dread.

Someone's watching. Close enough to see the color, the fit. My breath catches, shallow and quick. I scan the canteen without moving. Faces in line, groups laughing, Al mid-sentence about something. Normal. All normal.

But it's not. The phone feels heavy in my hand, a weight pulling me under again. Voices around me muffle. Maddie's laugh, Al's easy drawl, tuning out like radio static. Thoughts crash in.

Who is it? The unknown number stares back, mocking.Beautiful in blue.It's intimate, twisted. Like a compliment wrapped in barbed wire.

The message sits there, patient. Intimate. Wrong. I don’t reply. But somehow, I know that whoever sent it already knows exactly where I am.