Page 101 of Haunting the Hunter

“What are you thinking?”

I exhale and sit down on the edge of his bed, pulling him down with me.

“I’ll tell you everything I know, I promise.” And I do. I give him everything I know: Genni’s a witch. She plans to heal Cade. Ben’s involvement—maybe for love, maybe survival. Frank’s a brute. Rosa’s the one in charge.

The only thing I leave out is the ghost.

Some part of me feels like I’m not supposed to know. Like I’ve been let in on a secret that was meant only for Cade.

Jack sits quietly, absorbing all of the new information with quiet resolve. When he finally speaks, his voice is low. “Cade asked me to research how to kill a God. I thought it was just part of the game he plays—one of his weird power fantasies.” He looks up at me, eyes serious. “What’s its name?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper, unable to hold his gaze, guilt heavy in my chest. “I got pulled out before I could hear it.”

“Can you go back to him?” he asks, calculating.

“No.” I shake my head, lower lip trembling. “It was too much. I barely made it out. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t push, taking my hands in his again. “Don’t apologize. I don’t know anything about magic or spirits or whatever the hell this is, but that was brave, what you did. That couldn’t have been easy.”

I stare at the back wall, trying not to cry again. “No,” I whisper. “It wasn’t.”

He’s silent for a beat, then runs a hand through his hair, letting out a puff of air. “Okay. Do I have a plan? Not really. Other than driving straight there and winging it—actually, wait.”

He grabs his laptop from his bag and settles it on his lap, tapping quickly.

“What?” I ask, watching the flurry of motion as his fingertips dance across the keys.

“I might be able to recover the files you zapped. If I can, I can find Ben’s number. Maybe contact him directly,” he informs me as he works.

“You think that’ll work?” I ask, completely at a loss when it comes to computers.

“Maybe.” He shrugs, flashing me a grin. “But it’s better than nothing.”

He snaps the laptop closed and stands, slinging the duffel over his shoulder.

“I’ll do it on the drive and I’ll keep you updated,” he promises as he heads for his office, me trailing behind him. “But you get why you can’t come, right?”

I nod.

I do.

He doesn’t have to say it—we both know. I’d slow him down, I’d be a target. I’m not built for rescue missions or fights.

Not like Cade. Not like Jack.

So, I help him pack. I watch him load up the car. I wave as he drives away.

And then I pray.

Please come back. Both of you.

“He handled that well,” Alabaster says behind me.

“Please, don’t.” I lift my hand in a weak stop gesture, not even looking back as I lean against the doorway, eyes on the empty driveway. “Not right now. I can’t handle sarcasm.”

Silence stretches between us, heavy and uneasy.

Then—heavy footsteps approach, slow and deliberate.