Page 116 of Mine To Hunt

For a long second I do not breathe. The words seem to press against my ribs from the inside. My mind tries to deny it, tries to find a simpler explanation, but there isn’t one. He was here. Watching. Close enough to see everything.

"He’s been outside." I say, staring at the screen. "This was taken tonight. While you were walking in."

"Let me see."

I hand him the phone. My fingers feel colder than they should.

He studies the photograph in silence. His posture remains perfectly composed, shoulders relaxed, breathing even. If he feels anger or surprise, it does not reach his body.

He absorbs the information the way someone reads a weather report. Calmly, analytically, without emotional waste.

"That doesn’t disturb you?" I ask after a moment, watching him carefully. "He was close enough to photograph you. He’s not guessing anymore. He’s documenting."

"It confirms something." He replies.

"Confirms what?"

"That he’s impatient."

His thumb moves across the screen. Slow. Deliberate. Not the movements of someone reacting emotionally. The movements of someone thinking.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

He doesn’t answer. He continues for a few more seconds, then hands the phone back to me.

I look at it immediately. The conversation is unchanged. No reply sent. No new message. No visible difference at all.

"You didn’t respond." I say carefully. "So what did you do?"

He looks at me. "You don’t need to worry about it."

"That’s not an answer."

"It’s the only one you’re getting."

His tone isn’t cold. It isn’t harsh. It’s final.

I hold his gaze for a few seconds longer. "He’s escalating." I say. "He’s not just threatening me anymore. He’s showing me how close he is."

"Yes."

"And you’re not disturbed by that."

"No."

The certainty in his voice unsettles me more than fear would have.

"He could be outside right now." I say. "Watching the windows. Watching you."

"If he is," he replies evenly, "then he made a mistake."

There is no arrogance in the statement. Just quiet confidence.

My pulse is still fast, but it no longer feels chaotic. It feels focused. "He wants me to feel exposed. He wants me to think he can reach inside my house whenever he wants."

"Yes."

"And now he knows about you."