Page 9 of Hunt Me

“It felt good.” The admission surprises me as much as it clearly surprises Maya. “Being there. Watching him realize he was being watched.”

“Good?”

“Alive.” I lean back against the couch cushions, examining the feeling. “I’ve been sitting behind screens for years. Hunting, exposing, protecting. But it’s all ones and zeros. Data streams and encryption keys.”

“That’s what youdo.”

“That’s what I’ve beenhidingbehind.” The words come slowly, each one a small revelation. “Every breach I execute against the Ivanov family is perfect. Clean. Untraceable. But also... predictable.”

Maya sets her laptop aside entirely. “You’re getting bored.”

“I think I have been. For months.” I pull my knees up, wrapping my arms around them. “The NSA was boring. The whistleblower circuit got boring. Even legitimate cybersecurity consulting is boring now. Same patterns, different clients.”

“So, you picked a fight with the Russian mafia.”

“I picked a fight with someone who might actually beat me.” The distinction matters. “Alexi Ivanov isn’t some corporate IT department or government bureaucrat. He’s... different.”

“Different how?”

I think about the footage I’ve collected over six weeks. The way his fingers fly across keyboards during his manic coding sessions. How he talks to his screens like they’re living things. The brilliant, scattered energy that radiates from him even through security cameras.

“He doesn’t think like other people. Linear logic doesn’t apply. He builds systems that shouldn’t work but do. Finds solutions that violate every conventional approach.”

“You sound impressed.”

“I am.” Another admission. “And that’s... exciting. Challenging him digitally has been the most engaged I’ve felt in years. But seeing his face when he knew someone was watching. That was...”

“Dangerous.”

“Thrilling.” I meet her eyes. “I’ve been playing this game in safe mode. Anonymous. Untouchable. But adding the physical element, the real-world risk?—”

“Iris.” Maya’s voice carries a warning. “This isn’t a game.”

“Everything’s a game.” I stand, restless energy demanding movement. “The only question is whether you’re playing to win or playing not to lose.

“I was careful,” I say, more to convince myself than Maya. “He got a partial profile. Blonde hair, general build, the way I move. Nothing concrete.”

“That’s still more than he had before.”

“Exactly.” I pace to the window, watching the street below. “Now every platinum blonde woman in Boston becomes a potential suspect. Every coffee shop, every corner, every crowd.”

Maya frowns. “You’re trying to make him paranoid.”

“I’m trying to make him understand what it feels like.” My reflection stares back from the glass—pale hair catching lamplight, features I kept deliberately obscured. “He’s been hunting me digitally for months. Tracking my signatures, analyzing my patterns, learning how I think. All while sitting safely behind his screens.”

“And now?”

“Now he knows I can reach him. That the distance between us is just a choice I’m making, not a protection he has.” I turn back to face her. “He saw enough to recognize me if we crossed paths again. The hair, the build. But not enough for facial recognition. Not enough for definitive identification.”

“You planned that.”

“Of course I did.” I return to the couch, pulling my laptop back open. “I wore contacts to change my eye color. Kept my head angled to hide my bone structure. Hair loose to obscure my profile. He got exactly what I wanted him to get—a ghost that looks human but remains untouchable.”

“So, what happens when he sees blonde women everywhere?”

“He second-guesses.” I pull up the café’s interior footage again, studying the moment Alexi’s eyes found me across the room. The recognition, the focus, the immediate hunter’s intensity. “Every woman with platinum hair becomes a question mark. Every crowded space becomes a potential encounter. Every coffee shop visit carries the possibility that I’m there. Watching. Waiting.”

“That’s psychological warfare.”