Page 29 of Haunted

My mind goes back to the day I told my father I was becoming a journalist instead of joining the police academy. The disappointment in his eyes had been palpable. Three generations of Sullivan law enforcement came to an end with me and my notebook.

“Laws only work when people enforce them, Mira,” he’d said, his detective badge glinting under the kitchen lights. “The pen isn’t mightier than the gun when you’re facing down criminals.”

But I’d proven him wrong, hadn’t I? That exposé on Councilman Reeves two years ago had brought down his entire human trafficking operation when traditional police work had failed. My words had accomplished what his handcuffs couldn’t.

Mom had understood better. “Your grandfather wore a uniform, and your father carries a badge, but you, Mira—you carry the truth. That’s just as important.”

The memory strengthens my resolve. This story about the Blackwoods isn’t just another byline. It’s about continuing my family’s legacy of justice in my own way.

My phone buzzes again with another text from Cora, this time with a photo of her trying on a sparkling emerald dress.

This one says, “Claim me if you dare,” right?

Cora approaches everything with the same fearless enthusiasm—college, career decisions, and now this deadly game with the Blackwood brothers. Part of meenvies that freedom, that ability to leap without looking, that has always defined her.

But another part—the part that’s seen what powerful men like Xavier can do—wishes I could convince her to walk away. Her father’s political position makes her involvement even more dangerous. If something were to happen to the mayor’s daughter because of me...

I admire her courage and her loyalty as a friend, but this isn’t some adventure. This is walking into the lion’s den with a target on our backs.

I stare at Cora’s message for a long moment before texting back.

Whatever we wear, we need to be able to move in it. This isn’t a gala.

I rub my temples because I haven’t told Cora everything, like how I’ve noticed security at Purgatory doubling in the past week or the strange shipments arriving after hours. Whatever this Hunt entails, the Blackwoods are investing serious resources into it.

My phone buzzes again, but it’s not Cora this time. Unknown number. I hesitate before opening the message.

You’ve signed away more than you realize. The Hunt isn’t what anyone thinks. Not a game. Some don’t return. Delete this.

My stomach drops. I read the message three times,my hands growing cold. I try to call the number back, but it’s already disconnected.

“What the hell?” I whisper, my heart racing.

I pace my apartment, the message replaying in my mind.Some don’t return.Is it a threat or a warning? And who would send this? Someone inside Purgatory? Another participant?

My instincts kick in. I need to verify this information and find a second source to confirm its accuracy. But time is running out, and I’ve signed that damned NDA.

A knock at my door makes me jump. I check the peephole to see my elderly neighbor, Mrs. Finch, holding a luxurious black package with red ribbon.

“This was left at my door by mistake, dear,” she says, handing me a small parcel. “No return address.”

I thank her and close the door, examining the package with growing unease. My name is written in elegant script, but there’s nothing else to identify the sender.

With trembling fingers, I unwrap it to find a small wooden box. Inside lies a delicate mask—white porcelain with intricate red veins spreading across it like blood seeping through cracks.

Beneath it is a handwritten note:

For the Hunt. Wear this. X.

13

XAVIER

The afternoon light filters through my office windows as I lean back in my leather chair, watching the controlled chaos unfold below. Staff members dart between rooms, adjusting lighting and checking equipment. The air practically vibrates with anticipation—tonight marks another Hunt—another demonstration of power.

My attention keeps drifting to my screen on my desk.

Specifically, to the one showing Mira Sullivan’s apartment building.

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