Page 53 of Hunted to Be Mine

I counted in my head and watched him go. Not the man in an interview room. Not the one who’d shielded me while we ran. This was different. Quiet. Lethal. Awake.

Gray Coat lingered by the van, still on his phone.

At fifteen, certainty hit that he had no idea what was walking toward him.

At twenty, I followed at a distance. I kept Specter’s dark coat in sight and stayed out of Gray Coat’s line of sight. My pulse went loud as Specter shed the last of the tourist act. Step by step, the mask slid off.

Gray Coat ended his call and pushed off the van. He walked like he owned the block. Thought he was the hunter. Poor bastard.

Specter kept space. Close enough to track. Far enough to stay clean. When Gray Coat checked a window, Specter changed his stride. When Gray Coat paused, Specter found something to look at.

I stayed back, trying to keep them both in view. We drifted deeper into Karlín, past decaying apartment blocks andconstruction sites, chain-link and tarps. The street opened to a small square where vendors had set up their stalls.

Gray Coat’s shoulders lifted. His pace edged up. He glanced back, too casual.

He knows.

He cut into a side street without warning. Specter lengthened out, done pretending. I moved faster, stuck between obeying and needing to see.

The chase broke open. Gray Coat sprinted and knocked over a stack of empty crates. Specter cleared them and closed, movement stripped down and clean.

I stopped at the mouth of the alley and watched him work. No wasted energy. No show. Just forward.

Gray Coat broke left at the end and vanished. Specter followed. A shadow tracking a shadow. I hesitated, then ran, keeping to the edges and trying not to draw eyes.

I hit the corner and caught a glimpse. Gray Coat ducked through a construction zone. Specter vaulted a barrier like it was nothing. They wove through scaffolding and piles of materials, thinning out to specks.

“Shit,” I cursed, picking up speed.

I cut through the workers, dodging curses I didn’t understand. On the far side, Gray Coat burst onto a main street and shoved through pedestrians. Specter threaded after him.

I lost them for a beat. Then his coat flashed down another alley. I ran that way, chest burning in the cold.

The alley narrowed and dead-ended at a brick wall. Specter had Gray Coat pinned there, one hand at the man’s throat. Toes barely on the ground.

I stopped at the entrance. Specter’s hold on him was steady as a vise. The man’s face darkened above that grip.

“Who sent you?” Specter asked, calm enough to scare me more than a shout.

Gray Coat clawed at his wrist. Seeing Specter like this, stripped of all humanity, robbed me of breath. He was no longer the man who’d kissed me in Munich. Nor the one who’d kept distance in a too-small bed. This was Oblivion’s weapon, awake.

“Can’t… talk… if you’re… choking me,” Gray Coat managed.

Specter eased up just enough for air. Not much.

“You’ve been tailing us since the orphanage,” he said. “Why?”

I moved closer, behind him and to the side. Gray Coat’s eyes flicked to me, then back. He smiled, even with his voice raw.

“She shouldn’t be here,” he said in a thick accent, English smooth. “Not safe for civilians when old friends meet.”

Specter tensed. “We’re not friends.”

“No?” A cough. “But you followed me. Something in you recognized me, yes?”

Specter slammed him into the wall again. “Stop circling.”

“The doctor’s made progress with you.” Gray Coat looked at me. “Remarkable work. Untangling that much conditioning.”