Page 80 of Mine To Hunt

A knot tightens in my chest as I click on the video, curiosity and dread twisting together in a way that makes my hands feel unsteady. The moment it starts playing, horror slams into me.

The footage is grainy but there is no mistaking what is happening. The video appears to show a man engaging in inappropriate conduct with a young child. The act is unmistakable. Real. Deliberate. My stomach turns violently as the truth sinks in.

"Oh my God." I whisper, my voice barely holding together. "This is… this is awful."

Disgust crawls up my spine, followed by a surge of anger so sharp it makes my chest ache. The reality of what I’m seeing settles in slowly, each second worse than the last.

Then my eyes lock onto the man’s face. The video freezes on a clear frame, and recognition hits me like a physical blow. My breath leaves me all at once, my heart slamming so hard it feels like it might break through my ribs. I stare, unable to look away, my mind refusing to accept what my eyes are telling me.

"That’s Mike." I say, my voice shaking. I swallow hard. "How is this possible?"

"That’s exactly why everyone’s freaking out." Sarah says. "It has to be him. The video proves it."

Hazel gives a slow, grim nod. "It looks like he changed his name after the trial." She says carefully. "Probably to disappear. Start over somewhere new without his past catching up to him."

Anger burns hot in my chest as the pieces fall into place. "Who would send this now, after all these years?"

Hazel scrolls through the email, searching for anything that might give us a clue. "The sender’s anonymous." She says. "No traceable address. But the evidence is strong enough that we can’t ignore it." She looks up. "I’m contacting the police."

Around us, voices rise in disbelief and outrage. "This is insane." Tom mutters, running a hand through his hair. "I worked with him for years. Ate lunch with him. I never suspected anything like this."

Sarah shudders. "It’s terrifying." She says. "Knowing he was here every day, acting normal, joking around like nothing was wrong."

As the conversations blur together, my attention drifts back to the email. Something small catches my eye. Something that doesn’t belong.

Beside the newspaper article, barely noticeable at first, lies a single iris flower. Delicate. Intentional. My stomach drops.

Cold recognition spreads through me.

The image of the crime scene near my neighborhood flashes through my mind. The drunk man’s body, the report I worked on, the iris placed beside him like a signature. My hands start to tremble.

"Is this connected?" I whisper, more to myself than anyone else.

The thought takes hold and refuses to let go. The stalker. The flower. Mike being exposed now. A sick sense of pattern forms in my mind, filling me with dread.

Hazel notices my expression and steps closer. "Iris, are you okay?" She asks gently.

I nod slowly, forcing myself to speak. "I’m just… trying to process it." I say.

Even if Mike really is Andrew, it doesn’t explain why he targeted me.

Eventually, people drift back to their desks, but the weight of everything stays with me. Anger simmers beneath my skin. Anger at Mike, at what he hid, at the harm he caused. There’s relief too, knowing he’s finally exposed. But the fear doesn’t fade. The iris won’t leave my mind.

Back at my desk, I can’t focus. The flower replays in my thoughts over and over, tightening the knot in my chest. The same symbol in two different places. Too deliberate to ignore. My pulse quickens as darker possibilities surface.

I tell myself it’s a coincidence. That I’m reading too much into things because fear has sharpened my instincts into something unreliable. Still, the thought refuses to leave.

Was this planned? Is this his way of removing threats from my life? Protecting me in his own twisted way? But if he was the one who pushed Mike to spread those rumors about me, why would he do something that contradicts it?

Chapter 26

Him

Istand over him in the cold basement. The knife feels warm in my hand from the cut I just made across his ribs. Blood covers his body, and he breathes in short, wet gasps like a broken machine fighting to stay alive.

Fresh blood drips from the wounds on his chest and gathers into a small pool on the floor beneath him. A deep, warm feeling rushes through me. This is exactly where he belongs. Turned into a weak, crying mess because he dared to touch what is mine.

I wipe the blade slowly on a clean cloth, taking my time because I enjoy watching his eyes follow every movement. They are wide with pure fear, the kind that finally makes him feel something.