Chapter 10
The Hunter
T he morning air is crisp, biting, as if the very atmosphere knows the tension I carry within me. The school grounds are quiet, save for the distant chatter of students shuffling in. I remain in the shadows, unnoticed, as I often do. Watching. Waiting.
Ruby emerges from the street, moving toward the entrance with an unfamiliar determination. Her chin is raised slightly higher, her gaze sharper, more focused. It’s subtle, something most people wouldn’t notice. But I do.
She’s wearing black trousers that mold perfectly to her legs, paired with thin, high heels that click rhythmically against the pavement. Her long coat billows behind her, caught in the breeze, moving with a deliberate elegance. It’s a far cry from her usual attempts to blend into the background.
Today, she’s stepping out of the shadows, becoming something more.
I watch the tautness in her movements—her shoulders squared, her stride purposeful, almost as though she’s daring anyone to stop her. It’s a mask, one I recognize all too well. There’s tension there, coiled tight beneath the surface, waiting to snap.
As she nears the building, her gaze flickers over her shoulder, scanning her surroundings. A subtle check. She’s looking for something. Someone. And then her eyes find me.
For a brief moment, we lock eyes, and my breath halts. I expect her to falter, to give some indication of surprise or fear. But she doesn’t. Instead, she tilts her head just slightly, acknowledging my presence. Playing along.
The thrill it sends through me is immediate, dark, and consuming. She knows I’m watching. She’s aware of me, not as a threat, but as something inevitable. A force she can’t escape from. It’s no longer a question of if, but when.
She continues forward, her heels echoing in the cold silence, each click driving deeper into my thoughts. I track her every movement, watching as her hips sway, as she grips the strap of the bag slung over her shoulder—a weekend bag. It piques my curiosity, but I push that thought aside for now.
There’s something different about her today, and I need to understand what it is.
Twenty minutes later, I enter the classroom. Ruby is already seated, her transformation complete. The poised elegance she wore moments ago has been stripped away.
Now, she’s dressed in dark blue jeans, chunky-heeled ankle boots, and a gray button-down shirt. Her hair is pulled back in a loose knot, and her makeup is minimal but sharp. She blends in effortlessly, as though she’s part of the scenery.
It takes me a while before I notice the red tint to her cheek. It’s subtle, muted by her makeup, but I see it. Anger erupts inside me as I realize that Michael has broken our agreement and put his hands on her.
I take a slow breath, forcing myself to focus. There’s a class to run, after all. “Today,” I say, my voice cutting through the quiet murmurs in the room, “we’ll be conducting an exercise.”
Picking up a stack of folders from my desk, I hand them to the first row of students so they can pass them along.
“Inside, you’ll find a case study about an arsonist who burned down several buildings with calculated precision.”
“ Is this a real case?” Miss Dawn asks, her voice laced with curiosity, though her interest barely masks the arrogance beneath.
Shrugging, I reply, “That’s not important. Today, your job is to analyze it.”
I divide the class into two groups—one tasked with arguing that the arsonist acted rationally, driven by intent, while the other must argue that madness and chaos fueled the crimes. Ruby, unsurprisingly, is placed on the pro side, defending the arsonist’s motivations. Miss Dawn, with her biting tongue and shallow insight, becomes her opponent.
“You have two hours,” I announce, watching as the groups begin their work. “Time starts now.”
I take a step back, my gaze fixed on Ruby’s group, who have gathered at the center of the room. Her brow furrows slightly as she speaks to her team while her fingers tap rhythmically against the desk, a small tell that betrays the nervous energy she’s trying to suppress.
I watch the way her lips move as she explains her point, the quiet way her voice commands attention without forcing it. Again, I’m reminded of the difference in the way she carries herself now—a confidence I haven’t seen before.
But more than that, there’s a fire behind her eyes, a spark of something raw and dangerous. It’s almost as though she’s finally reached a decision about something, and answered a question only she knows about.
The longer I watch her, the more something inside me stirs.
It’s unsettling, this pull she has over me. I feel it building within me—a frustration, a tension between the control I’ve always held and the undeniable attraction I now feel. It gnaws at me like an insatiable hunger.
Before I know it, I’m leaving the classroom, slipping out without a word. My feet carry me down the hall to the staff bathroom, the door clicking shut behind me as I lock it with a deliberate twist of the key. My hands grip the edge of the sink, my eyes boring into my reflection, searching for some trace of control.
I’ve always been in control—of my thoughts, my actions, my urges. But today… today, I feel that slipping away.
The image of her burns in my mind. Ruby, with her sharp gaze, her body m oving with that quiet confidence, the way her voice pulls at me like a string being wound tighter and tighter. It sickens me how much I want her, how much my body reacts to just the thought of her.
I close my eyes, but that only makes it worse. Her image fills the darkness behind my eyelids. The sway of her hips, the fire in her eyes, the heat in her voice. I feel her power over me, and it claws at my insides, turning the desire into something more dangerous.
I’m hard… like a fucking adolescent, I have a painful erection at school.
My hands move, fingers fumbling with my belt. The leather slips through the loops, and I rip it open, the sound echoing in the small room.
My length juts out, hard and throbbing, my body’s betrayal hanging in the air like a weight. My hand trembles, hovering over the swollen flesh. I want—no; I need to take care of it. Right here. Right now.
Despite the need I feel, I don’t. Instead, I curl my fingers into fists, nails biting into my palms as I force her out of my mind.
I think of death. Of blood and pain. Of the lives I’ve taken with these same hands. Slowly, painfully, I regain control, the sharp sting of arousal fading, leaving only the remnants of my weakness behind.
But the damage is done.
She’s under my skin now, woven into the very fabric of my thoughts, and I hate her for it.
Once I’m done in the bathroom, I go to the cafeteria and get myself a cup of coffee, which I finish before ordering a second one. By the time I return to the classroom, I’ve buried the evidence of my momentary lapse.
Luckily, the students are focused, still discussing their arguments, oblivious to the war waging within me. Hell, they probably don’t even know I left.
I give them a brief break to prepare for the debate, rearranging the room as I watch Ruby. Her confidence is still there, but I see the cracks beneath it. Her mask is slipping, and I intend to shatter it completely.
Both she and Miss Dawn have stayed behind, so I wave them up to me. “I want the two of you to stand here during the debate. It’s important that everyone can see you clearly.”
I p retend not to notice the way Ruby cringes slightly at the mention of the attention she’s about to be subjected to. She even grips the cuffs of her shirt to stop them from riding up her arms. Miss Dawn, however, tosses her long hair over her shoulder and beams like she’s excited to be the center of attention.
“Alright, let’s get started,” I say, as the last people file back into the classroom. I flip a coin in my hand. “Mrs. Simmons and Miss Dawn, you may begin. I’ll let fate decide who goes first.”
I toss the coin into the air, watching it spin. Miss Dawn calls out confidently, “Heads.”
Ruby’s voice barely rises above a whisper. “Tails,” she says, almost as if she’s unsure of herself.
The coin lands in my palm. “Tails,” I announce, though it’s a lie. I want Ruby to go first. I need to see her on the defensive, struggling to justify her stance.
Ruby rests her fingers lightly on the desk as she begins to speak. “The arsonist in this case wasn’t acting out of pure malice or selfishness. The crimes were a response to an environment that pushed her to the brink. Her actions, while destructive, were calculated. She believed the ends justified the means.”
There’s a vulnerability in her eyes, but despite that, her voice is steady.
Miss Dawn speaks next, her confidence a sharp contrast to Ruby’s careful words. “This is nothing more than an attempt to rationalize unforgivable actions. Trauma may explain behavior, but it doesn’t excuse it. At some point, personal responsibility must come into play.”
The class shifts, the energy tilting toward Miss Dawn’s side. But I’m not finished with Ruby yet.
“Mrs. Simmons,” I say, my voice low, cutting. “Miss Dawn raises an interesting point. Where does personal responsibility come into this? Can we truly justify actions that lead to destruction?”
I see the hesitation in Ruby’s face, and I seize it. “Or are we simply excusing bad behavior under the guise of understanding?”
She swallows, her throat tight, her voice trembling as she responds. “I’m not excusing it, but understanding why it happened is essential. If we can grasp the motivations, we might be able to prevent similar events in the future.”
“Understanding isn’t enough,” Miss Dawn interjects, her voice firm. “We have to consider the victims, the lives that were ruined.”
I lean in, pushing Ruby further. “Imagine yourself in the arsonist’s place, Mrs. Simmons. Would you have made the same choices? Could you justify them?”
Ruby’s lips part, and for a moment, I see the battle inside her—the tension between what she knows she should say and what she feels. Her fingers tighten around the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening, and I can almost hear the wheels turning in her mind. The room is completely still, all eyes on her, waiting.
“I…” she begins, her voice faltering for the briefest second. Then she straightens her spine, determination flashing in her green eyes. “I don’t know what I would do if I were in her position, facing the same pressures. But I’d like to believe I’d find a better way. A way that doesn’t destroy everything around me.”
I see it then—her conviction, her inner strength rising to the surface despite the cracks I’ve tried to expose. She’s standing her ground, not only against me but against the darker parts of herself that I’ve been working so hard to pull out.
The class shifts in their seats, sensing the tension but not fully understanding its depth. Miss Dawn looks momentarily taken aback, as if she didn’t expect Ruby to hold her own so well.
But I’m not satisfied. Not yet.
“‘A better way,’” I repeat, my voice soft but laced with challenge. “That’s an ideal, Mrs. Simmons. But when you’re pushed to the edge, when every option is stripped away, do you think you’d still be capable of making that idealistic choice?”
The silence in the room deepens. Ruby’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see the vulnerability I’ve been searching for, flickering just behind her carefully constructed walls. But then, she surprises me.
“Yes,” she says, her voice firmer than before. “I’d have to be. Because if I wasn’t, I’d lose everything that matters. And that’s not a price I’m willing to pay.”
The finality in her tone hangs in the air, leaving me no room to push further. The class murmurs their approval, some nodding in agreement. Miss Dawn, sensing the shift, lowers her gaze. Ruby has won this round.
This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
“Interesting,” I say, letting the tension dissipate. “We’ll end the debate here.”
Asking the women to take their seats, I retake my usual position at the front of the room and address the class.
“As we’ve uncovered,” I announce to the rest of the class, my tone clipped and professional once more, “the desire for control, when unmet, can manifest in disturbing ways. It can twist our moral compass, justify heinous acts, and lead us to dangerous conclusions.”
I catch Ruby shifting nervously in her seat. I’ve rattled her, gotten under her skin the same way she’s gotten under mine—and I’m far from finished.
“Have a good rest of your day,” I say, dismissing the class with a dark, uncharacteristic glee.
The students begin to gather their things, the class wrapping up, but I keep my eyes on Ruby. She avoids my gaze now, her earlier confidence starting to wane as the adrenaline fades. Her hands are shaking slightly as she packs her bag, though she tries to hide it.
I approach Miss Dawn, loudly complimenting her debate rhetoric and arguments, which she eats up with a blinding smile. “Thank you, Professor Grant.”
Spinning on my heel, I make my way over to Ruby, who looks like my compliment of her opponent was a slap to her psyche, which is exactly how it was meant.
“H-how did I do?” she asks, her voice strained, like the words are being dragged from a place of reluctance.
“You did well today, Mrs. Simmons. But next time, don’t hold back. I want to see what you’re truly capable of.”
Her eyes widen, confusion and unease flickering across her face, as if she’s trying to gauge whether my words are a compliment or a threat. The slight tremor in her breath as she exhales, tells me that she’s rattled, unsure of herself. That doubt is exactly what I’ve been cultivating.
I w atch her go, a slow smile curling at the edge of my lips. This is only the beginning. The walls she’s built around herself are starting to crack, and when they finally crumble, she’ll have nowhere left to hide.