Page 67 of Mine To Hunt

He nods, but his gaze doesn’t stay on me. It slips away too quickly, like holding eye contact might say more than either of us wants to acknowledge.

“Yeah.” He says. “I get that. If you need help, or want to bounce ideas around, just let me know.”

The offer sounds polite. Careful. But it doesn’t quite reach me.

“Thanks, Tom. I appreciate it.”

He turns back to his screen, and the space between us feels wider than the few inches separating our desks.

A little later, Sarah passes by. Normally, she would slow down, wave, toss a comment my way about coffee or a headline. This time, she doesn’t. She keeps walking, eyes forward.

Confusion pricks at me sharply. “Sarah?” I call out, keeping my voice light. “Got a minute?”

She stops, but only because she has to. When she turns, her smile is there but it’s strained, thin around the edges. “Oh! Hey, Iris. Kind of a busy day.” She says. “What’s up?”

The distance hits immediately, unmistakable. “Nothing.” I say. “Just… saying hi.”

“Right. Hi.” She replies quickly. “I’ve got a deadline breathing down my neck.”

She’s already moving away before I can respond. The sting settles deep, slow and uncomfortable.

From the break room nearby, voices drift out as people gather for coffee. They’re not trying to whisper quietly enough. My name cuts through the low murmur.

“Did you hear about Iris?” Someone says. “That video from her school. It’s going around.”

Another voice answers, casual, almost bored. “Yeah. Makes you wonder if that’s why she’s here. Sympathy hire, maybe. Good optics.”

Heat rushes to my face, sharp and humiliating. The newsroom blurs for a moment as the past folds itself neatly over the present. Different building. Same feeling.

University, all over again.

I sink back into my chair, shoulders curling inward without me meaning to. Fear settles heavy in my chest, not of confrontation, but of being seen this way, measured and dismissed.

I wish, briefly and uselessly, that I could vanish into the background and leave nothing behind for them to talk about.

Chapter 22

Her

Leaving the office earlier than planned feels like the only option. The rumors clinging to my skin like something sticky that won’t wash off no matter how hard I try. The whispers from my colleagues echo in my ears even as I push through the door, making me feel humiliated and isolated in a way that burns deep inside me.

I hurry down the hallway, avoiding the elevators where I might run into someone, and take the stairs instead. The betrayal from people I thought were becoming friends stings sharply, leaving me with a heavy ache in my chest that makes it hard to breathe normally.

I step outside onto the pavement, but immediately become painfully aware of how exposed I feel walking alone in the open space. I tug my coat tighter around my body even though the evening is not cold at all, hoping the fabric will provide some barrier against the vulnerability that has been eating away at me since the rumors started. Confusion swirls inside me, mixed with paranoia that makes me question every shadow and every passerby.

I check my reflections in the glass windows of the shops I pass by, glancing quickly to see if anyone is following too closely. The side mirrors of parked cars catch my eye next, and I use them to scan behind me without turning my head.

The silence around me feels watched, like invisible eyes are locked onto me, tracking my every step without me being able to prove it. Fear builds steadily in my chest, turning into a tight knot that squeezes my lungs and makes my breaths come shorter.

I tell myself it is just the stress from the day making me imagine things. "You are overreacting, Iris." I whisper under my breath. But the words do little to calm the rising panic inside me.

At the bus stop, I stand there trying to calm my racing heart by focusing on the timetable posted on the shelter wall. But then I notice a man standing across the road from me.

He is tall and still, his posture wrong in a way that I cannot quite explain because it feels too deliberate and too patient for someone who is simply waiting for a ride or a friend. Suspicion flares inside me immediately, mixing with a growing terror that makes my mouth go dry and my hands start to tremble slightly.

I stare at him, trying to make out more details about his clothes or his stance to confirm if he is really watching me. But a bus roars past suddenly, blocking my view for a second with its large frame rumbling by.

When the bus moves away and clears the line of sight, he is closer than before, close enough that I can make out the pale edge of a mask tucked beneath his hood. It is not fully visible, but it is unmistakable, and my pulse spikes sharply with pure fear that floods through my entire body like ice water.