Page 82 of Mine To Hunt

I send an anonymous email to Hazel with attached article and the video. I send it through many VPN servers and the Tor network, bouncing the signal through several proxy servers so the police can never trace it back to me.

The message is short and clear.‘Andrew Sanders is Mike. The video is real.’

When everything is done, I sit back and think. Someone else tried to put fear in her eyes. The thought settles slowly, and withit comes a sharp edge of irritation. Whoever sent that threat to Mike thought they could play games with her.

They were wrong. That was never their place.

I wipe my hands slowly, the anger cooling into something colder and more focused. If someone is watching her, if someone thinks they can frighten her for their own amusement, then they have made a mistake. A serious one.

I will find out who it was. No one interferes with something that belongs in my world and walks away from it.

The strange part is how strongly the thought affects me. Iris has done something no one else ever has. My mind tries to explain it logically. She is unusual, unpredictable, a puzzle that refuses to behave the way people normally do.

But logic doesn’t fully explain the feeling growing beneath it. Possession.

She owes me her fear, her attention, the way her eyes search the darkness when she feels watched. Every reaction, every tremor of uncertainty. That belongs to me.

I finish cleaning my tools and set them neatly back in their place. The anger has settled into calm again, replaced by something quieter and more patient.

The next step is already forming in my mind. Soon she will find the iris flower. And when she does, she will understand something important. She is never alone. I am always watching.

I turn off the basement light and head upstairs, the fading rush of the kill still humming faintly in my veins. Sooner or later, Iris will learn the truth. Every fear she feels will lead back to me.

Chapter 27

Her

Istep out of the office building and the heavy tension from inside follows me like a dark cloud that will not go away. It has been a few days since that anonymous email about Mike arrived, and everything still feels wrong.

The police have already come to the newsroom twice. They asked everyone questions, including me, about the article, the video, and whether Mike had any enemies or acted strange lately. Every time I walk past his empty desk, my stomach twists into a tight knot.

The air in the office feels thick and heavy, like something rotten is stuck there. People whisper in corners, and every look from a colleague seems to carry suspicion. I keep replaying the officers’ questions in my head, wondering if they think I know more than I am saying. It makes it almost impossible to focus on my work.

My phone rings just as I reach the pavement. Maddie’s name flashes on the screen, and I answer immediately. "Hey, Mads."

"Ree." Her voice is soft, worried. "Are you okay?"

I exhale slowly. "I’m… trying."

"I figured." A pause. "I’ve been thinking about you all day."

I swallow, blinking fast. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Listen… want to meet near the old bridge café? We could grab something warm. Talk for a bit? I miss you."

My chest tightens, but this time it’s not from the spiral. "You always know when I need saving."

She huffs lightly. "Please. You’re predictable when you’re spiraling."

A weak laugh slips out of me. "Rude. But accurate."

"So you’re coming?"

"Already on my way."

"Good. Hurry before I order your drink wrong on purpose."

"You wouldn’t dare."