Page 18 of Haunted

“We’ll have the increased shipments starting next week,” Tyson confirms.

“See that you do,” I reply.

We walk to where our motorcycles wait in the shadow of the building. Knox’s customized Aprilia RSV4 in Neon blue gleams under the security lights. At the same time, Landon’s more subdued but equally powerful white Ducati Panigale V4 waits beside it. My BMW S1000RR sits between them—crimson red, powerful.

I snap my helmet into place and swing onto the bike, the seat molding to me like it knows who’s riding. The engine snarls to life beneath me—raw power, fully under my hand.

8

MIRA

Islide into the booth across from Cora, my “vacation” time before the Hunt, already feeling like a countdown clock rather than a break. The familiar bustle of our favorite café wraps around me like a security blanket.

“You look like hell,” Cora says, pushing a latte toward me. She’s already ordered my usual—caramel with an extra shot. Twenty-two years of friendship mean never having to specify your coffee order.

“Thanks for the ego boost.” I take a grateful sip. “Remember when our biggest worry was whether Professor Wilkins would grade on a curve?”

Cora laughs. “Those were simpler times. Before you decided to investigate the Blackwoods was a good career move.”

I lean forward, lowering my voice. “Speaking of which, I got invited to something. The Hollow’s Hunt.”

Her fork clatters against her plate. “The what now?”

“It’s this exclusive event the Blackwoods host annually. Very hush-hush. I signed an NDA that would destroy my life if I broke it, but Cora—this is it. My way in.”

Cora stares at me, her expression shifting from confusion to horror. “Wait, you’re not seriously considering participating in some cryptic ‘hunt’ with people we’ve been investigating for suspected criminal activity?”

“It’s the only way to get the inside scoop. I’ve been working at Purgatory for a month now, and I’m still barely scratching the surface.”

“You’re insane.” She reaches across the table, grabbing my hand. “Remember when I had to talk you down from that tree in sixth grade because you climbed too high trying to get a photo of that hawk’s nest? This is that, but with dangerous criminals instead of birds.”

I squeeze her hand back. “I appreciate the concern, but this story?—”

“It’s not worth your life,” Cora finishes, the worry in her eyes painfully familiar. She’s worn that same expression through every risky decision I’ve made since we were kids. “What exactly is this Hunt anyway?”

I hesitate, the weight of the NDA’s true stipulations pressing down on me. There’s no way I can tell Cora about the most disturbing clause—that whoever “catches” me during this Hunt gets to use me however they want. The words of the document flash through my mind, sobering and terrifying in their implication. If Cora knew the whole truth, she’d probably enlist her father’ssecurity team to lock me away somewhere “for my own good.”

“I’m not entirely sure what it involves,” I lie, hating the way the words taste. Twenty-two years of friendship, and here I am, lying to her face. “Some kind of party, I think. Exclusive, invitation-only. The Blackwoods dress it up as a seasonal celebration, but I’m betting it’s where they let their guard down around their inner circle.”

Cora narrows her eyes, studying me with the same scrutiny she’s had since we were kids. “You’re holding something back.”

I take another sip of coffee, using the mug as a shield. “It’s just... complicated. The NDA is extensive.”

“Mira.” Her voice drops, becoming serious. “We’ve known each other since we wore matching butterfly clips in our hair. Don’t bullshit me.”

“Look, it’s probably just some rich people’s party with fancy costumes and overpriced champagne,” I say, forcing lightness into my tone. “But it’s my chance to be in the same room with people who know what the Blackwoods are really up to.”

“And the Blackwoods personally invited you?” Her skepticism is palpable. “That doesn’t set off alarm bells?”

I shrug, aiming for nonchalance while my stomach knots. “Xavier probably invites lots of employees. It’s good for morale or whatever.”

“Since when do you care about workplace morale events?” Cora pushes her plate away. “These people are dangerous, Mira. This isn’t a game.”

“I know that,” I whisper, guilt eating away at me forthe half-truths. “But this story matters. People need to know what’s happening inside Purgatory’s inner sanctuary.”

Cora sets her coffee down with a decisive click. “That settles it, then. I’m coming with you.”

My mouth falls open. “What? No, you’re not.”

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