Page 9 of Mate Night Snack (Hollow Oak Mates #2)

KATNISS

K atniss sat cross-legged on the quilt-covered bed, her podcast mic perched on the edge of her nightstand like a waiting question mark. The room around her was still, the window cracked just enough to let in the smell of damp leaves and wild mint from the garden below.

She pressed the button and the red light blinked to life.

“Audio log. Episode draft—working title: Whispers in the Pines. ”

She took a breath, already feeling the tightness settle behind her ribs.

“I came to Hollow Oak looking for the truth behind a missing girl named Mabel Dorsey. Nineteen ninety-two. Vanished after school. No suspects. No body. Just a lot of quiet stares and doors that never quite close.”

Katniss shifted on the bed, brushing a curl from her face.

“And I thought I’d found a sleepy town full of gossip and secrets, the kind that unravel with a little pressure. But it’s different here. Heavier. Like every step you take shifts something underneath.”

She hesitated.

“I’ve followed whispers. Gut feelings. I’ve blacked out twice.

Seen visions that don’t make sense. One was of particular man in charge of guiding me.

More like guarding, based on the welcome I’ve received here.

In that vision, he was dying. I thought it was inside the Hearth & Hollow Inn at first. But now… now I’m not so sure.”

Her throat tightened as she thought about the vision she had had again earlier that day. She hadn’t told anyone, just her mic right now.

“I haven’t published this one. And I might not. Something’s scratching at the inside of my instincts, telling me that if I hit upload, it’ll tip things in the wrong direction. Like this story’s not just mine to tell.”

She stared at the blinking light. Then pressed stop.

The file sat there on her screen, red and pulsing like a heartbeat. She didn’t name it. Didn’t save it. Just let it hover.

Not yet.

Katniss stood and crossed the room, pulling the curtain aside. The woods swayed gently in the wind, but the trail leading into them looked darker than usual. Like the trees leaned in a little too far tonight.

Her fingertips brushed the windowsill.

She’d grown up in places where the silence meant safety. Where the worst thing lurking was a lie someone was too ashamed to say out loud. But Hollow Oak had layers she couldn’t peel away, and every time she got close to something solid, it twisted just enough to make her doubt her grip.

She turned away from the window and picked up her notebook. Flipping to a fresh page, she started writing:

Vision 3 – Night / Forest / Emmett

The details were sharper now.

This time, the blood wasn’t on the floorboards of the inn. It soaked into soil. Pine needles. Moss. His body was slumped against a tree, hand pressed to his ribs. Breathing shallow. Eyes wide and wild—not from pain, but from recognition. Like he’d seen something he thought was long gone.

She didn’t see the attacker. But she heard growling. Not human. Not quite animal, either.

She chewed the end of her pen and stared at the page until the ink bled through.

Her phone buzzed. A message from Miriam: Dinner’s downstairs if you’re hungry. Chicken pot pie and blackberry crumble.

She smiled faintly. Miriam cooked like she ran a spell shop on the side, which, honestly, wouldn’t even surprise her anymore.

Still barefoot, she padded into the hallway and down the old wooden stairs. The smell hit her halfway down: butter, thyme, warm berries, and something earthier. Like rosemary roasted in a cast iron pan.

Miriam looked up from the stove as she entered. “You’re late. I almost started reading your eulogy.”

“Got caught up in edits,” Katniss said, sliding into a chair at the long kitchen table. “Still deciding if I’m the unreliable narrator.”

“Dinner’s in the oven,” Miriam said, turning back to the pot. “Help yourself.”

She stood and moved toward the counter, glancing once toward the back window. The light caught the edge of the garden. Something moved beyond it—tall, lean, quiet.

Emmett.

She paused, hand hovering over the pie dish. “Is he always patrolling?” she asked without looking back.

Miriam made a soft noise. “He’s always watching.”

Katniss served herself a slice and brought it back to the table, picking at the crust while her thoughts churned.

“I think something’s coming,” she said softly.

Miriam didn’t answer right away. Just turned off the burner and set her spoon down.

“Then it’s good you’re here,” she said at last.

Katniss blinked. “I didn’t say it was something I could stop.”

“No,” Miriam replied, pouring two glasses of cider. “But maybe you’ll see it coming. And maybe that’s enough.”

Later that night, Katniss curled beneath the quilt and stared at the ceiling.

Her thoughts refused to quiet.

That vision had been too vivid. She could still feel the chill in the dirt. The way the bark scraped under her palms as she reached for him.

It had felt real. Too real.

She turned onto her side, eyes drifting toward the window again. Somewhere out there, Emmett was moving through the trees with that slow, careful stride of his. Every step measured. Every sense sharp.

He didn’t talk much, but his actions spoke louder than anyone else she’d ever met.

When she stumbled, he caught her. When she questioned everything, he didn’t push—just anchored her quietly until she could steady herself.

And now she’d seen him hurt.

Bleeding.

Alone.

Her fingers curled in the sheets.

Tomorrow, she’d find him. Not to warn him. He wouldn’t listen to that. But just to be where he was. Because something was coming. And this time, she didn’t want to see it from a distance after it had already happened.