Page 55 of Mine To Hunt

I feel a flush of pride at her words. "I appreciate that. I’ll do my best not to let you down."

Hazel nods approvingly. "I know you will. For today, since it’s your first day, take some time to get to know everyone. Then start on these two files. Make them engaging but factual."

She opens the first file for me. "This one is about a pickpocket who targeted a busy market last week. He stole wallets from several shoppers using quick distractions. The police used CCTV footage to track him down and arrest him at his home."

I scan the details, noting the victims' statements. "Got it. I can work with that."

Hazel points to the second file. "And this is a domestic violence case. The husband assaulted his wife after an argument over finances. Neighbors heard the screams and called the police. He has a prior record of similar incidents, but this time she is pressing charges. Include the resources for victims in the article."

Sadness tugs at me as I read the wife's account. "This is heartbreaking. I’ll handle it carefully."

Hazel smiles. "Good attitude. Now, go introduce yourself. Lunch is whenever you want."

I start by approaching the desk next to mine, where a guy in his late-thirties is typing away. "Hi! I’m Iris, the new content writer."

He looks up and grins. "Samuel here. Sports desk. Welcome aboard. If you need coffee tips, I’m your expert."

I laugh, feeling some nervousness ease. "Thanks, Samuel. I might take you up on that."

Next, I meet a women in late twenties from the features section. "Hi. I’m Iris. New here in crime."

She shakes my hand warmly. "Nice to meet you. I’m Sarah. Any questions, ask away."

I nod gratefully. "Will do. How long have you been here?"

Sarah leans back. "Five years. It’s a good team. You’ll fit in fine."

Throughout the morning, I chat with more colleagues. Mike from editing shares deadline horror stories. "Miss one, and the boss roars." He says.

I share a laugh. "Noted. I’ll stay on top of them."

By lunch, I feel more connected, their welcomes boosting my confidence. Emotions shift from anxiety to a quiet sense of belonging.

In the afternoon, I dive into the files. The pickpocket article comes together smoothly, detailing the thefts and the clever use of CCTV.

For the domestic violence piece, sorrow weighs on me as I write about the wife's injuries and her brave decision to seek justice. It stirs my own memories of Ryan, making my chest tight with empathy.

As the shift winds down, chairs scrape softly against the floor. Bags are slung over shoulders.

Samuel gives me a small wave. “Good job today, Iris. See you tomorrow.”

Hazel stops by my desk last. “Solid first day.” She says. “Keep it up.”

I thank them, the sense of accomplishment warm but fragile, like it could shatter if I look at it too closely.

The bus ride home is quieter than usual. Streetlights blink on one by one as the sky darkens, and my thoughts drift. Back to the files, back to the hazy incident I still can’t explain.

By the time I get off at my stop, unease has settled deep in my bones. It’s the kind that doesn’t come from a thought, just a feeling. Heavy and stubborn.

The alley behind my building looks different at night. Longer. Tighter. The shadows seem thicker, pressing in from both sides. I tuck my bag closer to my body and start walking faster, even though I tell myself there’s no reason to.

My shoes scrape softly against the ground. Then I hear footsteps. Not loud. Not rushing. Just… there. I slow down without meaning to, listening. The footsteps slow too. My chest tightens.Don’t panic,I tell myself.It’s probably nothing.Probably someone else heading home.

But my heartbeat doesn’t listen. It starts to race, thudding hard in my ears.

A man staggers into view, moving unevenly, like the ground won’t stay still beneath him. He smells strongly of alcohol, sharp and sour, and his eyes don’t quite focus when they land on me.

“Hey.” He says, his words thick and sloppy. “Sweet thing.”