Page 138 of Hunting Pretty

I had experienced missing time, just like Liath.

AVA

The Darkmoor campus was nearly deserted, a heavy silence hanging in the air as the last traces of daylight faded. Sunday evening meant most students were elsewhere, and that was exactly what we needed.

Fewer people meant less chance of getting caught.

I spotted Lisa waiting under the shadow of a large oak tree, her eyes scanning the quiet paths for any sign of movement.

I could still feel the weight of Aisling’s revelation pressing down on me, a dark cloud that threatened to pull me under.

The missing time, the bruises—it was all too much.

I swallowed hard, forcing the memories back into the dark corners of my mind where they belonged. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart.

Lisa’s eyes met mine as I approached. I knew she could sense something was off. But we didn’t have time to unpack it. There was too much at stake.

This was our only chance to do what we came here for, to get the answers we needed without getting caught.

So I did what I always did. I shoved the fear, the confusion, the pain back into the shadows. I pushed it all down, deep where it couldn’t reach me. Not now. Not tonight.

Tonight, we had to focus on the task at hand. There’d be time to fall apart later.

Slipping the key inside the lock, I whispered to Lisa, “You don’t have to stay, you know. I can tell them I stole it from you if I get caught.”

Lisa had a key to theDarkmoor Timesoffice. It was a concession for our rogue, unfunded student newspaper. The college wouldn’t buy us printers of our own, but they would begrudgingly allow us to use the new state-of-the-art printers they had no problem buying for their favorite mouthpiece.

Lisa shook her head. “Ride or die, bish. Hurry up and open the door!”

I repressed the urge to hug my best friend in the whole wide world and fought back a wave of fear that I was dragging her with me headfirst into mortal danger.

If I lost Lisa, I’d be as fucked up as Aisling was.

Inside, theDarkmoor Timesoffice was a mass of shadows as we tiptoed across the polished wood floors between the rows of dark wood desks.

Lisa switched on the old-fashioned brass banker’s lamp perched on the corner of the closest desk, casting a soft, amber glow around the office.

Tall bookshelves framed the walls, filled with stacked newspapers, files, and worn leather-bound books.Corkboards hung haphazardly, dotted with pinned articles, notes, and scribbles.

Lisa dragged another brown leather chair over so we could sit together.

I plugged my phone into the computer and opened up the photo I’d taken of Scáth on my phone.

Lisa snatched my phone out of my hand.

“Damn.That’shim?” Lisa asked, glancing rapidly between me and the photo.

I nodded.

Even when he was asleep, he was gorgeous. The sharp jawline. The pouty lips. Eyebrows dark and intense above eyes that seem lined with charcoal. The coiled power and darkness simmering even through the image.

Lisa let out a whistle. “No wonder you’re fucking your stalker.”

I grabbed the phone from her hand.

“Focus,” I grumbled, smiling nonetheless.

My hands trembled slightly as I opened up the facial recognition software linked to Ireland’s National Driver License Service.

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