Chapter 5 Cora
CORA
My leg bounces uncontrollably as I sit in the plush leather chair in the dressing room of Purgatory. It’s more luxurious than most five-star hotels I’ve visited. The lights are dim, casting everything in a warm amber glow that should feel comforting but somehow just heightens my nerves.
“Stop fidgeting,” Mira whispers, her eyes scanning the ornate double doors across from us. “You’re drawing attention.”
I glance around at the other women—two I recognize from various social circles, two I don’t. All of us dressed in our chosen color dresses as instructed, looking like we’re ready to dance the pole in a strip club.
“Sorry,” I whisper back, though I’m not really. The nervous energy coursing through me isn’t entirely unpleasant. It feels like the first day of college, or that time I snuck out to a concert my father had explicitly forbidden. “I can’t help it.”
Mira leans closer, her voice dropping lower. “This isn’t a game, Cora. The Hunt isn’t some rebellious little adventure.”
“I know that.” But even as I say it, I can’t deny the thrill beneath my anxiety. For once in my life, I’m doing something completely outside my father’s carefully constructed world. No press watching. No reputation to maintain. Just me, making my own choice—even if it’s a reckless one.
“If your father knew—”
“He’d lose his mind.” I can’t help the small smile that forms at the thought. “That’s kind of the point.”
Mira’s expression remains serious, her fingers tapping against her phone. “I’ve been researching this for a while. The rumors about what happens—”
“They are just rumors,” I cut her off. “Besides, we signed all those papers. Everything’s consensual.”
The doors at the far end of the room swing open, and a tall woman in a crimson suit enters. My heart jumps to my throat as all conversation dies.
“Ladies,” she says, her voice smooth as aged whiskey, “it’s time for your final briefing before the Hunt begins.”
The woman in crimson clasps her hands together, commanding our attention. “Welcome to the Hollow’s Hunt. I’m Vivienne, your hostess for tonight’s... festivities.”
My gaze darts around the room, taking in each woman’s reaction.
To my right, Mira’s face is a mask of practiced neutrality, but her white-knuckled grip betrays her.
Across from us, Bianca—the artist from that downtown gallery—twists a strand of dark hair around her finger, her hazel eyes wide and alert.
Next to her sits Keira, the dancer whose performances I’ve seen advertised around town.
Her body appears perfectly still, but I notice the slight tremor in her hands as she adjusts the silver anklet on her right leg.
Sadie Reynolds hunches forward slightly in her chair. Her eyes keep darting to the doors as if trying to find escape routes.
Only Lia Morgan seems truly at ease, legs crossed elegantly, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips as if she’s anticipating the evening rather than dreading it.
“The rules are simple,” Vivienne continues. “Once you enter the grounds, you have a half an hour head start. Use this time wisely to put distance between yourselves and those who will pursue you. The Hunt concludes in seventy-two hours.”
“The most important aspect you need to understand,” Vivienne says, her red lips forming a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, “is that by signing those contracts, you’ve temporarily waived all rights to consent during the Hunt period.”
A chill runs through me. I’d skimmed the paperwork, too eager for rebellion to pay proper attention to the fine print. Even if Mira had been blabbing to me about it the entire time.
“What exactly does that mean?” Sadie asks, her voice barely audible.
Vivienne’s gaze sweeps over us. “It means, my dear, that whatever happens during these seventy-two hours is entirely at the discretion of your pursuers. No safe words, no boundaries, no limits.”
I feel Mira tense beside me. She reaches for my hand, squeezing it so tightly it hurts.
“The contracts you signed are ironclad,” Vivienne states. “You agreed to surrender your autonomy for the duration. That’s what makes the Hunt so... exhilarating for all parties involved.”
My stomach twists as, despite knowing all this already, the full weight of what I’ve done crashes over me. This is complete surrender to unknown men with unknown intentions.
“If any of you wish to withdraw,” Vivienne continues, “now is your final opportunity. Once you cross the threshold into the hunting grounds, you belong to the Hunt until it concludes.”
No one moves. Pride or shock, I’m not sure which keeps us all frozen in place. Maybe both.
“I didn’t realize...” I whisper to Mira, whose face has gone pale.
“I tried to tell you,” she whispers back. “This is why I was concerned.”
“Well then,” Vivienne clasps her hands together with finality. “Since you’re all staying, let’s proceed. Remember, ladies—you signed away your rights. Whatever happens out there is precisely what you agreed to.”
“One final instruction,” Vivienne says, smoothing her crimson blazer.
“In precisely five minutes, that wooden door will open.” She gestures to a massive door at the far end of the room I hadn’t noticed before.
“It leads directly into the maze. I suggest you use these final moments to prepare yourselves mentally.”
My heart hammers against my ribs as I glance at Mira, whose face has drained of all color.
“The Hunt spans all three levels of this building,” Vivienne continues. “The warehouse was converted to house Purgatory on the main floor, but the upper and lower levels have been designed specifically for events like this. Corridors, rooms, hidden passages—it’s quite elaborate.”
I swallow hard, trying to imagine the maze of hallways and chambers stretching above and below us.
The building itself is massive—an old industrial warehouse repurposed into the most exclusive venue in Ravenwood.
From the outside, it looks abandoned in parts, which I now realize is intentional camouflage.
“Each level offers different... opportunities,” Vivienne’s lips curl into that same cold smile. “Different terrains, different challenges. I suggest you use them wisely.”
With that, she turns and exits through the doors she entered, the click of her heels fading as the double doors swing shut behind her.
The silence that follows feels suffocating.
“Jesus Christ,” Sadie mutters, running her hands through her dark hair. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”
Bianca stands, pacing nervously. “Three levels. That’s a lot of ground to cover.”
Keira remains seated, her eyes closed as if mentally preparing herself, the silver charm on her anklet catching the light as her foot taps rhythmically.
Only Lia seems unfazed, applying a fresh coat of lipstick with steady hands. She catches my stare and smiles slightly. “They designed this to intimidate us,” she says coolly. “That’s part of the game.”
“This isn’t a game,” Mira snaps, her voice tight with tension. “This is—”
“Why did I agree to this?” I ask, panic taking over as I clutch my pendant.
“Thirty seconds,” a voice announces over the speakers.
The six of us form a line before the massive wooden door. Nobody speaks now. I can hear each woman’s breathing—some fast and shallow, others deliberately controlled.
“Ten seconds.”
Mira is vibrating with nervous energy as she turns to Lia. “Aren’t you scared?” she whispers.
The mechanical sound of locks disengaging echoes through the chamber, interrupting any possible response.
“The Hunt begins now,” announces the voice over the speaker. “Run.”
“Scared?” Lia’s laugh is genuine as she tosses her hair back. “Of course not. I can’t wait to have fun.”
My brow furrows as who the hell could be that confident about stepping into something so fucked up? Of course, she moves forward first and enters the maze without a moment of hesitation.
“Ladies, our time is ticking,” she says, disappearing into the darkness. “Half an hour isn’t much of a head start.”
Mira grabs my hand, a silent vow. We stay together as long as possible.
The other women scatter their own ways, but Mira and I stay on the straight path, heading forward into the dimly lit maze.
“This place is massive,” I whisper, hearing the tremor in my own voice as I glance around the sprawling labyrinth. The gray silk dress I’d been given clings uncomfortably to my curves, the flimsy material offering little protection against the chill.
Mira nods beside me, her eyes narrowing with concentration. I can practically see her mind working, cataloging each turn, each corridor, building a mental map. Left turn, straight corridor, another left. Always the journalist, even now.
“The other women scattered quickly,” I observe.
Bianca had disappeared down the first right turn we encountered, her expression unreadable. Keira and Sadie went left together, finding strength in numbers. And Lia—God, Lia had laughed before sauntering down the center path alone, hips swaying with a confidence I can’t begin to understand.
“Good,” Mira murmurs beside me. “Fewer variables to worry about.”
I want to laugh at that—as if this is just another story she’s investigating, as if we’re not dressed in practically nothing, about to be hunted like animals. But I understand her need to compartmentalize. It’s the only way to stay sane.
The maze feels like it’s watching us. Stone gargoyles peer down from alcoves, their grotesque expressions seeming to follow our movements.
Every shadow shifts with the flickering torchlight, making the hairs on my arms stand up.
This place reeks of old money and power—the Blackwood legacy written into every carefully crafted corner.
My father would have a field day with this place. The thought almost makes me smile, almost.
The corridor ahead branches into three paths, and I reach out instinctively, touching Mira’s arm. My fingers are trembling. “Which way?”
Before she can answer, a sound fills the maze that makes my entire body go rigid—a low, resonant alarm that echoes off the stone walls and vibrates through my chest. It feels ancient and primal, like a call to hunt.
My stomach twists violently.
“They’re coming,” Mira breathes.
The alarm cuts off, leaving behind a silence that feels hungry, expectant.
“Mira—” My voice breaks, crumbling like sand. I’ve been in politically dangerous situations before, but nothing like this, nothing that made me feel so exposed, so hunted.
She pulls me against her, fierce and protective. I can feel that she’s trembling too. It’s oddly comforting to know I’m not alone in my fear.
“We stick together,” she whispers into my ear, determination hardening her voice. “As long as possible, okay? Whatever happens, we don’t separate.”
I nod, trying to swallow the lump of fear in my throat. My eyes dart between the three paths ahead, calculating, weighing options. This is just like politics, I tell myself. Assess, decide, commit. Except the stakes are infinitely higher.
“Stay close,” Mira whispers, choosing the middle path.
We move together in silent tandem, the cold marble floor numbing my bare feet. Every shadow seems to shift and breathe with malicious intent. I find myself wishing I’d paid more attention to my father’s security team when they discussed evasion tactics.
The silence between us is heavy. I find myself instinctively moving closer to Mira, our shoulders touching as we navigate a narrow section. I trust her more than anyone else in this maze.
Then we hear it.
Footsteps—confident, unhurried, deliberate—echoing off stone walls somewhere behind us.
“Oh God—” My breath catches, panic flooding my system like ice water.
The footsteps grow louder, more distinct. They’re not trying to hide their approach. They want us to hear them coming. They want us to run.
“Run,” Mira breathes, but my body is already moving.
Pure instinct takes over as I bolt to the right, primal fear propelling me forward. The silk dress streams behind me as I round a corner, my heart thundering in my ears.
I hear Mira call my name, but it’s too late—I’ve already broken our pact to stay together. Shame floods me even as I keep running, my instincts screaming at me to stop, to think, to strategize. But my body refuses to listen.
I race down a corridor that stretches endlessly before me, torchlight blurring as I pass. Suddenly, my foot catches on an uneven stone, and I stumble, throwing my hands out to catch myself against the wall.
Instead of cold stone, my palm presses against something that gives slightly—a hidden mechanism.
A grinding sound fills the air. Stone against stone, deep and mechanical.
The wall beside me begins to move, rotating slowly on a central axis. Before I can react, I’m pulled into darkness as the passage seals behind me, cutting me off from Mira completely.
I’m alone in the darkness, trapped in a predator’s game.