Page 94 of The Hunt

“That sucks,” I muttered, not really in the mood for conversation. My mind was still on Nikki and Cheryl.

“We think he was probably a mole,” Nathan added.

My gaze jerked up to meet his deep brown eyes. “You think there’s a mole too?”

“Yup. They said there were fifty players, but there were fifty-one packs at the start. So I think that means there’s an extra player here.”

“That’s exactly what I think too,” I said, nodding fervently.

“My first suspect was actuallyyou,” he said, raising a brow as he unwrapped a muesli bar. “Given your story about not signing up for the game.”

“I really didn’t—”

He cut me off. “It’s okay. I don’t think it’s you anymore,” he said. “After a while, I realized that there was no way the mole would make themselves seem so damn suspicious from the start. And you instantly drew a lot of attention to yourself with that story.”

“Yeah, I guess I did,” I said. I tilted my head. “So what makes you think this other player is the mole? And who is it?”

“Peter. I don’t know if you remember him from the beach.”

“Yeah, I remember him,” I said, nodding slowly. “The one with pancreatic cancer.”

Nathan’s lips thinned. “I think he might be lying about being sick. Firstly, he seems really healthy and fit. Not like he’s dying at all,” he said. “Also, I only got a glimpse as he left, but I think his backpack said fifty-one. Sus, right?”

“It was twenty-one,” Chiara mumbled. “Your eyes just suck.”

“I’m sure it was fifty-one,” Nathan insisted.

My shoulders slumped as his words sank in. Nikki and I had already discussed the backpack numbering issue and figured that there was no way the hunt organizers would make the mole so obvious.

On top of that, I really didn’t think Peter was lying about being sick. Lots of people with serious illnesses seemed fine for a long time… right up until the day things suddenly fell apart. I knew that from experience.

My mother had been diagnosed with Stage 3 ovarian cancer when I was a kid. At the time, she’d been working sixty-hour weeks as an ER doctor and training for marathons as a hobby. She’d seemed as healthy as a horse, and she only found out she was sick when she went in for a routine scan after fallingpregnant with the baby that would’ve been my younger sibling, if it wasn’t lost during the subsequent treatment process.

Even after that loss, coupled with the shock of the diagnosis, Mom had seemed strong and capable for months, until one day when she suddenly couldn’t get out of bed anymore. It was jarring, seeing her go from fit and vibrant to frail and dependent in such a short period of time, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I certainly wouldn’t accuse someone of faking it, either.

“What do you think?” Nathan said, forehead creasing.

As he stared at me, I realized I still hadn’t replied yet. I cleared my throat. “Oh, um… I don’t know,” I said, not wanting to get into an argument. “All I know is I’m not the mole.”

“Me neither.”

The other two echoed him.

I actually believed them. I seriously doubted the mole would allow themselves to be starved and dehydrated for two days, no matter how committed they were to the role of trickster-saboteur.

“Okay, look,” I said flatly. “We’re about half an hour away from the next safe zone. I know how to get there, and you can come with me. But listen carefully. If you stick with me, you follow my rules.”

I repeated Nikki’s rules from yesterday, my voice monotone. To my surprise, the others didn’t argue. They just nodded, clearly too drained to protest.

The sky was still filled with dark, heavy clouds, and the rain started ten minutes before we reached the zone—cold, relentless, and soaking through our clothes in seconds. We hurried toward the cabin perched near the edge of the clearing, only to find the door locked.

“What the hell?” Nathan rattled the handle in frustration. “It’s supposed to be open for another three hours!”

I turned to scan the clearing around the cabin, frowning as I realized the blue spray-paint that usually bordered a safe zone was missing. Had the heavy rain washed it away?

I was about to suggest that we break one of the cabin windows to get in when I spotted a flash of blue to the far right—a small circle around a hatch, almost hidden under a layer of vines and moss.

“There!” I pointed at the hatch. “The safe zone must be underground. This cabin must’ve been put here to trick people.”

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