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“Being here brings it all back,” I said softly.” I still have it, the ring.”

That fragile stem sat in a frame on my nightstand, surrounded by photos of us, different than the ones on my wall. A lifetime of memories mapped out around one promise.

“I know you do.” He ran a hand through my hair. “I think we both knew even then that this was special,” he said, his voice low, threading through me like a dark current. “We didn’t just grow up together, we became pieces of each other.”

I turned those words over in my head, and found they were spot on. “That’s a good way of putting it.”

“You know I’m obsessed with you, right? I’ve wanted you so long it’s poisoned every other part of me.

” His fingers brushed across my cheek like he was memorizing me.

“I don’t take a single breath without you on my mind.

I know you’re scared to let yourself feel this.

I know trusting me doesn’t magically erase all your doubts, but I’ve been playing the long game with you, Sass. ”

“The long game?”

“It means that I would sooner tear myself apart and hand you every piece before I ever broke your heart.” His forehead pressed to mine. “Our new normal will be a beautiful thing, baby. I won’t let it hurt you,” he promised, his voice dark and sure.

How was I supposed to fight against something like that?

He looked at me like there was no air in the world unless it passed through me first. Hearing him proclaim his obsession out loud should have terrified me.

It should have sent me running. It had the opposite effect and made me never want to walk away.

Even if it was messy, even if it was twisted and poisoned at the edges… it was ours.

“You’re insane, but I think I might be just as gone for you.”

I kissed him, and he reacted instantly, his hands threading into my hair, pulling me closer until there was no space left to think. I melted into him, my hands sliding up his chest as his tongue swept into my mouth. I pulled back before we could get too carried away, knowing our time was limited.

“We have to talk about The Hunt still,” I rasped, smothering a laugh.

The look on his face was comical. “Sass, your timing is horrendous.”

“Let me finish.”

“I was going to.” His grin deepened as he shifted beneath me, pressing me down harder against him. My breath caught, my hands pushing at his chest even as my thighs instinctively tightened around his hips.

“Rye,” I warned. “Unless you want us to be at risk of public indecency, you’ll stop and listen.”

He chuckled. “I’m listening. Keep talking.”

I sucked in a shaky breath. “What if… what if my main Huntsman is actually a Huntswoman ?”

His expression turned thoughtful. “Explain how you came to that conclusion.”

“It’s hard to,” I admitted. “I have this gut feeling now. It’s obviously someone close. Someone who knows my routine. I can’t pinpoint who.”

“Or your Huntsman is a man, and a woman close to you is feeding him everything he needs.”

My stomach twisted at that, and I made a face. “Okay, but I like my theory better. Yours creeps me out ten times more.”

He began rubbing my back. “Ferret would do it.”

“You think Layla dislikes me that much?”

“I don’t think she dislikes you. I think she wants to be you.”

The way he said it left no room for denial.

“But she’s so…” I started, shaking my head, struggling to put it into words.

“She’s one weird bitch.”

“Ryder!” I snapped, half-laughing, half-scolding. “You can’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“We don’t call women that word unless—.”

“I don’t see her as a woman,” he interrupted, amused. “So, there’s no issue. You know her mom isn’t wrapped too tight either. It’s probably hereditary.”

I frowned. “My mom did say she saw her the other day… said she didn’t look well. I think that she’s a demon, but maybe she just needs help. I find that sad. She didn’t always used to be like this, you know? She used to help people.”

He stared at me, his expression switching back to unreadable. “I know.”

Oh. Right. He would know. He’d been to her practice years ago. I hadn’t meant to bring that up. I flinched as something wet hit my cheek, breaking the moment. I looked up, startled.

“Did you feel that or was it just me?”

“Drizzle,” Ryder murmured, his own head tilting back as a drop hit his skin. “It got me too. It wasn’t supposed to rain today.”

I glanced at the barely touched basket beside us, guilt pricking at my ribs. “I’m sorry, Rye. You did all this…”

His hand came up, warm against my jaw, gently turning my face back to him.

“Don’t ever apologize for telling me how you feel,” he said, his voice low and steady, the conviction in it like a pulse against my skin.

“I want to know every bit of happy, sad, angry, and petty you’ve got, Sass.

This? This is something small. I plan to do a million times over. ”

My lips curved despite myself, my heart stuttering in my chest. I leaned forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his mouth. I pulled back, smiling, and stood, slipping off his lap as another few droplets splattered across my hair.

We gathered our things quickly.

Ryder shook out the blanket, tucking it under his arm with the basket cradled in his other hand. Halfway up the trail, Ryder slowed and pulled his varsity jacket off, shifting the things in his arms, then he dropped it over my head.

“Rye, no.” I tried to shove it back at him. “You don’t have to do that. What am I? The Wicked Witch? I won’t melt.”

He laughed. “I’d rather you stay dry than watch you shiver like a wet dog the whole drive home.”

“That’s mildly insulting,” I huffed as we continued moving.

We finally reached the truck. He unlocked it quickly, then walked me around to my side and opened my door first.

I climbed in and held his coat in my arms. He tossed the basket and blanket into the back seat and took the jacket from me after he was in his seat, running his fingers over the pockets.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

“What’s wrong?”

“My phone must’ve fallen out somewhere.”

I started to reach for the door handle. “Let’s go retrace—”

“No,” he cut in firmly, hand shooting out to still me. “It’s about to pour. I’ll go.”

“I can help.”

“You’ll help me from right here and stay dry. Wait like four minutes, then call it for me, okay?”

“Fine. Go.”

He pressed a quick, rough kiss to my lips. “I’ll be right back.”

Then he was gone, hopping out and jogging back down the trail, disappearing around the bend.

I looked around, noticing the other cars were gone.

It was just us out there now. I slumped back into my seat, adjusting the climate controls, the steady purr of the heater filling the cab.

Two minutes in, I called him. The phone rang to voicemail.

I hung up and dialed again, checking my notifications.

Everyone was talking about the same thing.

Crowsnest Confessions.

I ended the call, re-dialed his number, and placed the call on speakerphone so that I could open the website.

God only knew what fresh hell was waiting.

I logged in with my student ID. The system assigned me a random tag—Anon462.

The most recent post at the top had a full username.

HauntedMind92. You only got a full name when you made a confession.

HauntedMind92

What do you do when the guilt eats you alive?

When you hear her voice every time you close your eyes?

I swear I didn’t mean to hurt her.

I tried to forget, but the blood won’t wash off. I’m sorry, Britt.

Brittany?

I swallowed, reading it again. My pulse thundered in my ears, my fingers going numb around my phone. This had to be another sick joke, like that video. I scrolled through the comments:

Anon198 : Bruh, did you just admit to a crime on a message board?

Anon413: Guilt doesn’t haunt you. People do.

Anon1031: New drinking game: take a shot every time someone confesses to murder.

Anon190: Stop confessing here and go to the cops.

Anon1021 : It’s not her voice you should be worried about.

Anon752: Sounds like you need a priest, not a forum.

Who the hell was HauntedMind92?

A faint tapping sound had me jumping in my seat. I looked around but saw nothing. I exited the website and dialed Ryder again. Another tap, louder this time. My hair stood on end.

Had that come from behind me?

I turned slowly, looking through the rear window. There wasn’t anything there. I turned and slammed my hand against the lock button, heart hammering so hard I felt it in my teeth.

“Where are you, Rye?”

I turned on the defroster. His wipers were censored and already sweeping across the glass, clearing the rain in jerky motions. When his phone went to voicemail again, I went to call once more. A text came in.

1031

You shouldn’t have let him go.

Poor little cheerleader. All alone.

Panic clawed up my throat. Another tap — harder this time, sharp and certain.

I turned—freezing.

A masked face was pressed against the window, so close I could see the fog of their breath.

In one hand, they held a knife. In the other…

they lifted a bloody palm and pressed it flat against the window.

Slowly, deliberately, they dragged it down, drawing a jagged, broken heart in the smear of red.

I stumbled back, a scream trapped and thrashing inside me.

No sign of Ryder.

No sound but the rain drumming harder now, blurring the world beyond the glass.

Another tap—louder, sharper, like a command.

They tilted their head, studying me with a quiet, almost curious stillness. The knife turned in their hand, before they slammed the hilt against the window. The crack of it split the air like a gunshot.

I screamed.

My phone slipped from my shaking hands, clattering to the floor mat.

Their gloved finger tapped once more against the glass. Then, they lifted the blade and slowly curled it inward, a deliberate beckon.

Come play.