Page 89 of Mine To Hunt

How did he even get inside?

My legs feel weak as I walk back to my bedroom. That is when I see it. Something lying on my bed.

An iris flower.

The same kind that appeared near the drunk man’s body. The same kind in the email about Mike.

My fingers tremble as I pick it up. A realization slowly settles into my mind, heavy and unsettling. The masked man who just stood here… and the stalker exposing people in my life… they are not the same person.

The masked one never tried to destroy me. In his own twisted way, he has been helping me. Removing threats. The iris is his mark.

I sit on the edge of my bed, holding the flower tightly. Fear twists inside me, but confusion mixes with it. He is not trying to ruin my life. He is shaping it. Deciding who stays and who disappears.

The thought should only terrify me. It does terrify me. But something else is there too. Something small and dangerous that I do not want to name.

I place the flower gently on my bedside table instead of throwing it away.

Then I lie down and stare at it in the dim light. My mind keeps replaying everything, his voice, his silence, the way he touched my hand so carefully, the way he always stops just before crossing a line.

Nothing about him makes sense. Nothing about how I feel makes sense.

I watch the violet petals until my eyes grow heavy. Thoughts swirl together until fear and something softer mix into a concoction I cannot separate. Eventually sleep pulls me under, and the last thing I see is the faint outline of the iris in the dark.

Chapter 29

Her

Iwake up the next morning feeling like I barely slept at all. My eyes burn, my head feels heavy, and every part of my body aches the way it does after a night spent tossing and turning instead of resting.

For a long time I just lie there staring at the ceiling, not moving, not blinking much, as if I am afraid that the moment I move, the memories from last night will hit me harder. But they are already there. They have been there all night.

His voice. His presence. The way he stood so calmly in my room as if he had every right to be here. The way he held my wrist. The way his gloved fingers felt careful instead of cruel when he applied the ointment.

I shut my eyes for a second, but that only makes it worse because then I can see it more clearly. My chest tightens.

How can the same person who terrifies me also make something inside me feel… safe? The thought makes my stomach twist. Shame burns through me hotter than the burn on my fingers.

I force myself to sit up. The room feels too quiet again, like it is waiting for something. My gaze moves slowly to the table whereI left the iris flower. It is still there, untouched, its pale petals soft and glowing in the morning light.

For a moment I just stare at it. Then I stand and walk toward it slowly, like I am approaching something fragile and dangerous at the same time. I pick it up carefully and turn it between my fingers, studying every detail. The petals are smooth. Perfect. Not a single flaw.

A strange shiver runs down my spine. He left this here. He was in my room. Close enough to my bed to place it. Close enough to watch me sleep if he wanted to. My grip tightens slightly around the stem.

"Why?" I whisper quietly, though I do not even know who I am asking.

I should throw it away. I know I should. Any normal person would. But instead I place it back exactly where it was, adjusting it slightly so it lies neatly. My heart beats faster as I do it, because keeping it feels like admitting something. Something I am not ready to admit even to myself.

I get ready slowly, my movements sluggish, my thoughts distracted. His voice keeps replaying in my head over and over like it has carved itself into my memory.You should be more careful.

I grip the sink as the words echo again. Why does that line stay with me? Why that one? He threatened me before. He frightened me. He admitted he wanted to see fear in my eyes. Those are the things I should remember. Those are the things that should stay stuck in my mind.

But instead I remember the quiet concern in his voice.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror while brushing my teeth. My eyes look tired. Unsettled. Like they belong to someone who has not felt safe in a long time. I tilt my head slightly, studying my own expression.

"What is wrong with you?" I murmur under my breath.

The girl in the mirror looks just as confused as I feel.