Page 2 of Hunted By Valentine

I pull the hood up, and my face vanishes into the shadow it casts. Only my eyes remain, dark and unrelenting, staring back at me. For a moment, I’m nothing more than a ghost in the mirror, a shadow that moves in silence.

Turning away, I leave the reflection behind. The Hunter doesn’t linger in mirrors. He has work to do.

The meeting place is a forgotten corner of the city—an underground parking garage near the docks. The kind of place where no one asks questions, where shadows thrive and the concrete walls are stained with decades of silence.

The perfect place to remain unseen.

I park a few streets away, cutting the engine of my car. Stepping out, I make sure my scarf is wrapped around my face. There are no cameras around here, but there’s no accounting for random people being nearby, snapping a picture of something inconsequential and somehow capturing my face.

Michael is already waiting for me as I reach the garage, standing near a rusted metal support beam. His posture is tense, the air thick with his discomfort. Can’t say I blame him; he doesn’t know who I am, not really. He only knows the legend of the Hunter. He has no idea what I look like, and he never will.

I move silently through the darkness, stepping into a sliver of dim light just enough for him to see the outline of my form. My face remains hidden in the shadows.

“Hunter,” he says, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. He shifts nervously, his breath visible in the cold air. “You got my message?”

I want to scoff at the stupid question; I’m here, so clearly that would be a‘yes’. This idiot doesn’t get an A+ for conversation openers.

Reaching into my pocket, I grab my phone and pull it out, holding it in front of my face. “I did,” I respond. Despite the app I use to distort my voice, I keep it low.

Michael flinches slightly. He’s nervous. Fear radiates off him like heat in the winter air. He hesitates before speaking again, his eyes darting around the empty garage as though someone else might be watching.

“It’s about my wife. Ruby. She’s… a problem. I need her gone.” He forces the words out.

Pretending he didn’t already tell me this, I move on, anxious to see if he’s going to tell me the truth, whatever it may be. “Why?” I ask. One word. That’s all I need.

He swallows hard, his hand tightening on the railing beside him. “I just do.”

“And what exactly do you want?” I prod, keeping my voice low and even.

“I need you to take care of her. Permanently. Make it look clean. An accident, maybe. Or something that can’t be traced back to me.”

There it is—the real request. A clean kill, no mess, no connection. He wants his wife erased. Yet, he isn’t honest with me about who she is. That alone is enough to make me want to kill him outright. He isn’t worth it, though, and my curiosity is winning out.

“I’ll consider the job,” I say after a long pause, “on one condition.”

He looks up, his eyes meeting the shadow of my face, searching for something he can’t see. “What’s that?”

“I want to shadow her for a week. I need to know her routine. Understand who she is before I decide how to proceed. This isn’t about just killing someone. It’s about knowing exactly when and how to strike.”

Michael shifts uncomfortably, the silence pressing in on him. He wasn’t expecting this. He thought I’d agree outright. But I don’t work like that. I’m notjusta killer. I’m a hunter. I need to understand my prey before I make my move.

Unlike the other apex predators of the animal kingdom, I don’t have centuries’ worth of skills presenting themselves as instincts to rely on. Hunting humans isn’t nearly as effortless or smooth as when the lion takes down the gazelle, or when the crocodile drags the unsuspecting zebra into the water.

Michael glances around the empty garage, weighing his options. Finally, he nods, his breath misting in the cold air. “A week, then. But it has to be done. I’ll double your fee if I have to.”

I let out a cold laugh. “You’re trying to rush something that can’t be rushed. Tell me, Michael, do you not know who I am?”

“O-of course I do,” he replies.

Although I doubt he can see the movement, I nod. “Who am I?”

“You’re the Hunter,” he says, and I’m amused by the awe lilting his tone as he says my name.

“And who is the Hunter?”

He gulps, sweat beading on his forehead. “You… you’re a killer for hire.”

“Is that it?” I ask, my distaste for his words evident in my words. “If that’s all you’re looking for, you’re wasting both of our time.”

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