Page 70 of The Hunt

I nodded. “I get it.”

“I’m guessing you remember our conversation from the yacht?”

“Most of it. But we were cut off.”

“Yeah.” She nodded curtly. “Right when I was about to tell you that I’m a journalist.”

My brows shot up. “Are you here to write about the game?”

“I’m an investigative journalist, to be specific. So I’m not just here to write about this so-called game. I’m here to expose The Wild Hunt for what it really is,” she said, her voice hard with resolve.

“I’m… a bit lost.”

“It’s fine. I don’t expect you to know anything, given how you’ve been dropped into this with zero knowledge of it,” she said, patting me on the shoulder. “But I’ve been looking into this game for four years now. Gleaning whatever snippets of information I can get. It hasn’t been easy.”

“Yeah, I imagine they’re very hush-hush about everything,” I said, nodding slowly. “I remember that guy talking about NDAs.”

Cheryl scoffed. “I don’t think the NDAs actually mean anything. I have a feeling they’re just for show.”

“For show?” I frowned. “What do you mean?”

She hesitated. “I mean… I think the contestants are made to sign them so they’ll feel like it’s all real and perfectly legal. But they don’t matter in the end.”

“Why?”

“From what I’ve managed to find out so far, no one who joins the game is ever seen again.”

My heart skipped a beat. “What?”

She lowered her voice. “I’m pretty sure this whole thing is either a trafficking scheme or a real hunt. A way for rich, powerful people to satisfy whatever sick fantasies they have.”

I stared at her, my stomach twisting as her words sank in.

Areal hunt.

My breath caught in my throat as a wave of terror washed over me. I could almost see it—rich, faceless people watching us from the shadows, hunting us like animals, relishing every second of it.

No, no… it can’t be real.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady the panic rising in my chest, but it was impossible. The fear was tangible now, not just the anxious thoughts in the back of my mind, but an overwhelming dread that gripped my every sense.

If this was really happening—if they were really hunting us—then there was no escape. After all, we were on an island. The resources we had were limited, including space. There was only so far we could run before our backs were up against the wall. Or in this case… the vast, freezing ocean.

I kept staring at Cheryl, trying to find some kind of reassurance in her steady gaze, but I could see the same fear reflected in her eyes.

“You really think it’s real?” I finally said, voice almost cracking.

She nodded. “I believe it enough to have found a way to join the game myself. That’s why I’m here.”

“How did you do it?” I asked, eyes wide. “And if you honestly think there’s such a risk, why the hell would youwantto do it? Surely an article isn’t worth your life.”

“To answer your first question—I faked some paperwork to make it look like I was in terrible debt. Then I went to a bank owned by a family that’s known to be associated with The Wild Hunt. One of the society’s founding families, from what I’ve gathered,” she said. “The bank rejected my loan application, obviously, but it didn’t take long for me to get approached by a recruiter after that.”

“How did you know you’d get recruited that way?”

“That brings me to your second question.” Cheryl’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something painful passing through them. She swallowed hard before speaking again, her voice soft but resolute. “My sister was a participant. Someone recruited her into the game after they approached her about her mortgage debt. I didn’t hear many details from her, because she said she’d signed an NDA and was breaking it just by telling me anything at all. But she told me enough.”

“What happened to her?” I asked, heart thudding. “Did she disappear like the others you mentioned?”

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