Page 87 of Mine To Hunt

The engine roars softly as he drives away into the night. I watch until his taillight disappears around the corner, and only then does a sudden realization settle over me, heavy and unsettling.

Despite everything, the fear, the confusion, the danger, I feel safest when he is near me.

That thought lingers long after I step inside and close the door, wrapping around my chest like both comfort and warning at the same time.

Chapter 28

Her

By the time evening settles over the flat, the quiet feels wrong. Not peaceful. Not calm. Wrong. It sits in the air like something alive, heavy and watching, pressing against the walls and filling the space until it feels hard to breathe.

It is the kind of silence that makes every tiny sound feel loud and suspicious. The kind that makes you feel like if you turn around too fast, you might see someone standing behind you.

People always say the same thing when your mind won’t stop racing.Stay busy. Keep yourself distracted. Do something normal.As if normal things can fix a mind that has already been shaken. As if routine can erase memories.

So I cook. Or at least I try to cook.

I stand in the kitchen stirring vegetables in a pan. The spoon moves slowly through the oil, making soft scraping sounds against the metal. The stove hisses quietly.

These sounds should calm me. They should pull me back into the present. But they don’t. They feel far away, like they belong to someone else’s life instead of mine. My body is standing here,doing what it is supposed to do. But my mind is somewhere else entirely.

The past few days have drained me in a way sleep cannot fix. I am not just tired. I feel worn down from the inside, like something heavy is sitting in my chest and refusing to move. Every thought feels slow and thick. And no matter how hard I try, my mind keeps going back to him.

I hate that it does.

I hate that instead of only feeling fear, some small part of me keeps trying to understand him. That part of my mind disgusts me. He is dangerous. He is not normal. He is not someone who deserves understanding or sympathy. He is a monster. I know that. I know that clearly.

So why does my chest tighten every time I think about him?

Why does something inside me react instead of just shutting down in fear?

I grip the spoon tighter and stir harder, like I can push the thoughts away by force. I do not want to analyze him. I do not want to think about his voice or the way he stands or the way he watches me. I do not want to feel anything except fear when I remember him. Anything else feels wrong. It feels like betrayal.

The sharp smell of burning hits me suddenly. I blink and look down. Smoke rises from the pan in thin gray lines. The vegetables are black at the edges now, sticking to the bottom.

“Oh…” I turn off the stove quickly and grab the handle to move the pan away, but my fingers brush the hot metal.

Pain shoots through my hand. “Fuck.”

I jerk my hand back, clutching it against my chest. The burn throbs instantly, sharp and hot, like tiny needles stabbing into my skin again and again.

Tears sting my eyes from the sudden pain. I feel stupid. Stupid for being so distracted that I hurt myself doing something as simple as cooking. Everything in my life already feels like it is slipping out of my control, and now even this proves it.

I rush to the sink and turn on the cold water. I shove my hand under it and hiss softly as the cold hits the burn. It helps a little, but the pain is still there, pulsing. I stand there longer than I need to, just staring at the water running over my fingers, trying to calm my breathing.

After a moment I shake my hand dry carefully and walk to the bedroom cabinet to get ointment. My thoughts are still spinning, about the stalker, the email about Mike, about everything that has been happening lately. Nothing feels normal anymore. Nothing feels safe.

I open the cabinet, grab the tube, and turn around. And there he is. Standing right in the doorway.

He leans against the frame like he has always been there, like he belongs in my room. His arms are folded across his chest. He is completely still. The white mask faces me, smooth and blank and emotionless.

The ointment slips out of my hand and hits the floor with a dull sound that feels too loud in the silence.

A gasp escapes my throat before I can stop it. My whole body freezes instantly. I cannot move. I cannot breathe properly. Myheart starts pounding so hard it hurts, like it is trying to break out of my chest.

He does not say anything. He just watches me.

His head tilts slightly, almost curious, like he is studying my reaction and memorizing it. The room is so quiet I can hear my own uneven breathing. My burned fingers still hurt, but the pain feels distant now. Fear is stronger. Fear takes over everything.