Page 68 of Mine To Hunt

"What are you doing here?" I mutter to myself, my voice barely audible over the traffic. Instinct screams at me to run right then, to get away from him as fast as my legs can carry me before he gets any closer.

But my legs hesitate for a moment, frozen between overwhelming fear and a sliver of disbelief that this could be happening to me again so soon.

Part of me still wants to believe that I am imagining these things, that the masked man from last night was just a hallucination born from all the stress and trauma I have been enduring lately. Confusion paralyzes me briefly, making me second-guess my own eyes.

"This cannot be real." I whisper, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

But the terror wins out in the end, overriding the doubt. I move anyway, crossing the street without even checking the signal because panic drives me forward blindly into the flow of cars.

Horns blare around me, but I do not stop, cutting through a side road that I know is poorly lit and less crowded, hoping desperately to lose him in the twists and turns that I am familiar with.

Panic finally forces my body to move when the bus pulls up with a sharp hiss of brakes. I rush forward without thinking, my feet barely touching the ground as I climb inside. The doors slide shut behind me, and for a brief moment, relief crashes into me so hard my knees feel weak. I am no longer alone on the street. I am surrounded by people, noise, movement. That has to mean something.

I make my way down the aisle and drop into the nearest empty seat, my hands gripping the edge so tightly my fingers ache. My chest rises and falls too fast, breath burning my lungs as the bus lurches forward and blends back into traffic. I keep my eyes fixed ahead, afraid that if I turn around too soon, I will see him standing there and everything will shatter again.

The city slides past the windows in streaks of light and shadow. People talk quietly around me. Someone laughs. A phone rings. The ordinary sounds feel wrong, distant, like they belong to a different world than the one I am trapped in. I try to let the normalcy sink into me, to convince myself that this is over now.

By the time my stop approaches, exhaustion has settled deep into my bones. I tell myself this is the end of it. Home is close. Safe. Lit. I gather my bag and stand, steadying myself as the bus slows.

The doors open with a hiss, and I step down onto the pavement. The bus pulls away almost immediately, its lights fading as it disappears around the corner. The sudden quiet feels too loud. The street is dimmer here, the glow from the lamps uneven, pockets of shadow stretching between them.

I take a few steps forward before something tightens low in my stomach. That feeling again. The one I recognize now too well. Slowly, I turn my head.

He stands across the street, just beyond the reach of the nearest light, his shape too still to be accidental. The hood blends into the darkness, but the pale mask catches enough glow to make it unmistakable. He wasn’t on the bus. He didn’t need to be.

He was waiting.

Ice floods my veins, sharp and immediate. My breath stutters as the realization lands fully, heavy and undeniable. No matter how far I go, no matter how I try to put space between us, he is already there. Watching.

I don’t move. Neither does he. The distance between us feels deliberate, measured, like something chosen rather than accidental. My heart pounds so hard it hurts, each beat echoing in my ears.

The bus is gone now. The street is quiet. And I am alone again. With him.

I started walking towards my street. My breath comes in shallow gasps that burn my lungs with every inhale, and fear chokes me as I hear the sound of footsteps following behind me.

The footsteps are not rushed or chasing in a frantic, desperate way that would make them easier to outrun, but just there, measured and unhurried, like he knows with absolute certainty that I cannot really escape no matter how fast I try to go or how many corners I turn.

Dread builds inside me with every step I take, turning into a knot in my stomach that makes me feel sick with nausea and helplessness. "Why will you not leave me alone?" I sob to myself, tears blurring my vision as I push my legs harder.

I reach the narrow lane, my legs burning from the walk and my vision blurring even more with tears of exhaustion and terror. When I look back, I catch a glimpse of him. His head tilts slightly as if he is assessing me carefully, like I am something he is deciding exactly what to do with in that moment.

His hand lifts slowly, not in a warning or a greeting, but in a way that makes me certain with bone-deep terror that he could reach me in seconds if he chose to do so.

Panic overwhelms me completely, and I shout at him without thinking, my voice echoing off the walls. "Why are you doing this to me? What have I ever done to you that you keep following me like this and ruining everything?"

He does not respond at all, just stands there watching me with that tilted head, and the silence only heightens my fear to unbearable levels that make my whole body shake.

I back away until my shoulder hits the brick wall behind me, the impact jarring my body but not enough to snap me out of the paralyzing panic that grips me.

My fingers curl around the taser in my pocket, gripping it tightly as a last desperate resort for defense, though doubt floods me about whether I can even use it effectively.

"Please, just tell me why you’re trying to ruin my life." I cry out, tears starting to stream down my face uncontrollably as sobs wrack my body.

"What did I do to deserve all this? The stalking that makes me afraid to leave my house, the video that destroyed my reputation at school and now at work, the rumors that make everyone look at me like I am some kind of freak. Why me?"

My voice breaks with heavy sobs, the emotions overwhelming me completely as I stand there crying in front of him, feeling utterly helpless and broken. The fear mixes with anger and despair, leaving me desperate for answers that he refuses to give.

In that moment, I notice something strange about him that confuses me amidst the terror, cutting through the panic slightly. The way he stops advancing suddenly, his posture changing as tension tightens in his shoulders and then slowly eases away like a wave receding from the shore. It is like he is arguing with himself internally, deciding something important in that long, silent pause that stretches between us.