Page 18 of The Hunter

But I’d always loved this part. The silent, sacred work of coaxing life from nothing.

Another breeze lifted the fronds of the palms overhead, sending a chill up my spine. Not because of the breeze, but because of the stillness that followed. The air had shifted. The birds had gone quiet. No rustling in the trees. No splash from the shoreline. No distant hum of a boat engine on the bay.

The sun disappeared behind the clouds, a shadow creeping across the garden.

It reminded me of the myth I read in college. Of Hades rising from the underworld to steal Persephone away. They called him the King of Shadows. He never needed to knock. His presence alone was enough to silence a room, to snuff out the sun.

I rose slowly, a prickle running along the back of my neck. My eyes scanned the wrought-iron gate that separated the garden from the private dock. The bay lay still beyond it, the water like glass.

There was nobody out there. And yet it felt like someone was watching me.

I shook off the feeling, blaming it on my mother’s outburst. But her words replayed in the back of my mind.

“He’s not who he says he is. He’s here for you.”

A flicker of movement caught my eye, and I snapped my head in its direction. A black bird flitted through the air and landed on the garden gate, its beady eyes fixed on me. Unmoving. Unblinking.

Watching.

I turned back to the soil, not wanting to get worked up over this. It didn’t mean anything. It was just a bird. I couldn’t let my mother’s nonsensical ramblings get to me.

But I’d never seen a bird like this around here.

I studied it as it perched on the fence above me. It tilted its head, like it understood something I didn’t. Then it spread its wings, gave a single cry, and launched itself into the air. Straight toward me.

I shot to my feet, feeling like I was stuck in some Alfred Hitchcock movie. I stumbled back, my arms flying up to shield my face.

That’s when I felt it. A sharp sting at the base of my neck.

The sky above blurred. The garden swam in and out of focus. The crash of the waves became distant, muffled, like I was underwater.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came.

The bird screamed again overhead.

And then the light dimmed, not from the setting sun, but from a shadow.

A figure.

Large. Silent. Standing over me.

I fell to my knees, my fingers digging into the soil one last time before everything went dark.

Chapter Nine

Henry

The water was the only place I could breathe in this godforsaken city.

Miami shimmered like a mirage around me. Sun-drenched. Shallow. Loud. But out here, far from the clubs and crowds, the water silenced it all. The tang of salt, the rhythmic slap of waves against the hull, the occasional cry of a gull — it was the closest thing to stillness I ever got.

Which was why I went out on my boat today. To clear my head. To get away from the noise.

At least that was what I told myself. But even as I idled in the turquoise sweep of Biscayne Bay, I knew I was lying. I hadn’t come out to find peace. I’d come here to watchher.

Star Island glittered in the distance, a sanctuary for the rich and the powerful, and I was floating just offshore. Close enough to see the back of Victor Kane’s estate. Close enough to seeher.

I should’ve kept going. Should’ve cracked a beer and let the tide carry me somewhere quieter. Somewheresafer. But I didn’t. Couldn’t.