Page 118 of Mine To Hunt
A few minutes pass before I speak again. The room is quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside.
"I remember." I say.
The drunk man in the alley who grabbed me. Mike at work who spread rumors until I couldn’t walk through the office without whispers. Justin at the club who thought a crowded room meant no consequences.
They are gone. Each of them ended with an iris left nearby. His mark. Quiet. Intentional.
"You removed them." I say, meeting his gaze through the mask. "Every one of them."
"I handled them."
"For me?"
His head tilts slightly, as if the question itself is unnecessary. "They made you suffer."
"That wasn’t what I asked."
A pause settles between us. He doesn’t look away.
"I don’t tolerate men who mistake access for ownership." He says calmly. "They crossed a line."
"And that’s enough for you?"
"It is."
His answers are controlled, precise. He doesn’t claim heroism. He doesn’t frame it as sacrifice. He states it as principle.
I study him carefully. "You didn’t hesitate?"
"No."
There is no warmth in the answer. No romance. Just acknowledgment.
"And you’ll remove this one too?"
"If necessary."
The simplicity of it steadies me in a way it probably shouldn’t.
He steps back slightly then, creating space without breaking the connection entirely.
"Lock every door." He says. "Check every window. Do not open the door for anyone. Not for a neighbor. Not for a familiar voice. If something feels wrong, it is."
"You’re leaving?"
"For now."
"But you’ll still be watching?"
"Yes."
The certainty in that single word settles into my chest like something solid. Reliable. Dangerous, but reliable.
He walks toward the door with the same unhurried calm he has maintained since the message appeared. Nothing in his movements suggests urgency or panic. It is as though tonight did not surprise him. Only confirmed an expectation.
"He wants you afraid." He says before stepping out. "Don’t give him that."
Then he leaves. The soft click of the door closing behind him echoes louder than it should.
