2. Hunter #2
Sleep had become something stolen, fragmented into a few hours snatched between terror and compulsion.
I forced myself upright, rubbing my face and dragging my breathing back into something resembling normal.
My hands shook as I reached for my phone — always my phone. Always the first check.
Ella’s notifications were normal. Her texts, her socials, the harmless chatter of someone blissfully unaware of me. Unaware that I was watching, always making sure she was safe.
Relief pressed against my chest, but it was shallow. It was enough to keep me functioning, but not enough to feel anything like peace.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and let them carry me out into the darkness.
The house felt too big, too quiet. The walls pressed in, and every creak of the floorboards sounded like a threat.
I grabbed my keys off the counter, slipped on a baseball cap and my sneakers, and left without thinking, my body moving on autopilot.
The drive was short but long enough to burn off some adrenaline. My headlights pierced the night, not a soul was in sight. The only sounds were my breathing and the hum of tires on asphalt.
I knew exactly where I was going. Somewhere I could think, where the chaos inside me couldn’t follow.
I pulled into the small campus lot, the old concrete cracked, shadows pooling around the edges. I came here for the quiet. The bench under the flickering lamppost, half-hidden by oaks, had been mine for years.
It wasn’t just about being alone; it was the way the night breathed here and let me untangle the panic clawing through my chest. The darkness didn’t reach me here.
I slumped onto the bench, my shoulders hanging low, my hands gripping the wood tightly.
The air was crisp and sharp enough to sting my lungs. I forced myself to sit and count my breaths, letting the echoes of the nightmare recede like the tide.
No one ever came here. No one but me.
For a long while, I was alone, with only the wind in the branches and the faint hum of distant streetlights for company. The calm seeped into me, slow and steady, until my pulse matched it.
Until I thought maybe I could breathe again.
Then, an unfamiliar sound caught my attention. It was too light to be the wind and too close to be campus traffic. A faint crunch of gravel, uneven and hesitant.
My head snapped up, my instincts already on high alert.
No one ever came here.
Another step, softer this time, like whoever it was had realized they weren’t alone.
I turned, my pulse spiking.
There she was, a flash of red cutting through the shadows, sneakers pausing mid-step.
Moonlight caught the curve of her face, and for a split second I wondered if I’d finally lost it, if my brain had conjured her out of thin air.
But then came the familiar tilt of her head and the restless shift of her weight from one foot to the other.
Ella.
My heart was beating a mile a minute as her eyes widened. She took in the outline of my hunched form on the bench, shoulders tense and hands clasped between my knees.
Her face lit up. She was a beacon, cutting through the darkness and right through the walls I’d spent years building.
“What, um, what are you doing out here?” she asked, her voice tentative and soft.
I straightened slightly, catching the hint of concern and curiosity in the way she surveyed me.
“I could ask you the same thing.” I eyed her, unimpressed. “You’re supposed to be in bed.”
Literally, considering that’s where she’d been when I checked her location less than half an hour ago. What the fuck was she doing out here at this hour?
Her gaze flicked away for a second, like she was deciding how much to admit.
“I needed some air,” she finally said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just … couldn’t sleep.”
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously, trying to gauge whether she was telling the whole truth or hiding something.
I didn’t move, keeping my hands clasped between my knees and leaning forward slightly. The night was quiet, except for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind.
She hadn’t moved closer yet, but her presence filled the space as always. My chest tightened, and my pulse spiked in a way it hadn’t in years.
In the dark, her hair tumbled messily, her eyes catching the lamplight. I couldn’t fucking look away.
“Seriously,” I said finally, my brows furrowed, still trying to ground myself. “What are you doing out here? It’s … not exactly safe.”
Ella shrugged, her gaze flicking down at the gravel as her toes nudged a stray stone.
“I needed air,” she said again, softer this time, like she was testing the truth against my doubt.
I flattened her with a stare.
“Maybe I just wanted a change of scenery,” she said, teasing, though there was an undercurrent of honesty there.
Leaning back, I studied her in the moonlight. She looked small against the dark backdrop of oak trees, yet like she somehow belonged here anyway.
I took in every detail: the faint line on her cheek when she squinted in the lamplight and the way her fingers idly traced the hem of her sleeve.
My chest ached at the thought of touching her, but I wouldn’t. I couldn’t — at least not yet.
“A change of scenery,” I murmured. “In the middle of the night, wandering campus alone?”
She smirked and leaned slightly closer, but not close enough to invade my personal space.
Fuck me. For the first time in my life, I actually wanted someone to come this close, and she was being respectful. Go figure.
“Some people like midnight walks. Ever try it?” She arched one brow, like she was letting me in on some kind of secret.
“Only when the world’s already asleep,” I admitted. My voice was lower than intended. Especially when I need to escape my reality.
Her shoulders relaxed a little. “Yeah, that’s exactly it. Just needed some space.”
I wanted to tell her I understood exactly how that felt, that I’d been doing the same thing, night after night.
But I stayed quiet and let her speak first, allowing her to exist for a moment without interruption.
She shifted on her feet, fidgeting with her sleeve again. “Do you … come here often?”
I let a small, almost imperceptible laugh escape. “Guess you could say it’s my spot. Quiet. No one ever comes here.”
She smiled, and my chest ached again. “I can see why.”
She lowered herself onto the bench beside me. The wood shifted slightly under her weight, and I caught the faint scent of her hair as she leaned back.
We sank into a comfortable silence, the kind that is full of observation and unspoken understanding.
I cataloged the curve of her shoulders, the rhythm of her breathing, and the way she tilted her head. I could sit here like this forever.
Then, almost on instinct, she brushed a strand of hair off my forehead. Every muscle in my body tensed, and it felt like a rubber band had snapped taut around my chest.
That brief touch sent a jolt through me — an echo of a desire I wasn’t willing to acknowledge, not even to myself.
“Thanks for letting me sit here,” she murmured finally.
“You don’t have to thank me,” I said, voice low. “It’s fine.” It was more than fine.
I wanted to tell her that she didn’t need my permission to sit next to me. That she could come sit here with me for the rest of our lives if she wanted, that I’d watch her and memorize every little thing until the world stopped spinning.
But I didn’t. I only nodded.
Her lips quirked into another of those adorable little smiles again. “Sooo, you come here when the world’s too loud, huh?”
“Yeah. I like the quiet,” I said, letting my gaze linger on her. “It’s easier to think when no one else is around.”
The night wrapped around us, quiet but not oppressive. In the distance, the campus lay slumbering, and for the first time in a long while, neither of us was alone.