Hunter or Prey
Hunter or Prey
The Sentinel Circle believes she is a piece of the puzzle. They whisper it in taverns, in basements, out by the ridge where the wind howls. To them, she is a tool, a means to an end. But to me—God help me—she is more than that. And it terrifies me because I know I will have to make a choice soon.
\---
The night after Rylan brought word of the tracks, I could not sleep. The shadows in my small house pressed close, as if listening. Jasmine stirred beside me, half-asleep, her breathing uneven. Saffy shifted in her bed in the corner, murmuring in her dreams. My family, the two people I should be protecting above all else, and yet my thoughts were not with them.
I slipped out of bed quietly and lit a lantern. In the back of the house, there is a panel in the floor that only I know how to open. It creaks if you are careless, but I have practiced enough times to lift it silently. Beneath, a hidden crawl space yawns dark and cold. My sanctuary. My shame.
Inside are papers—years of notes. Drawings of claw marks. Sketches of symbols carved into trees. Fragments of strange testimonies from drunks who swore they saw things they should not have. And lately, page after page with her name written at the top. Ree.
I crouch there for a long time, lantern flickering, flipping through the notes. Each page is a reminder of the way the Circle operates. We track, we record, we dissect the impossible until it bleeds into something we can understand. Ree is in those pages now. Every dream she muttered about in her sleep, every time she startled at a sound only she seemed to hear—I wrote it all down.
It feels wrong, but it also feels necessary.
\---
I pull out a smaller notebook, leather-bound, worn at the edges. This one is different. This one is not for the Circle. This one is for me—and for her. If I fail her, if she dies, if I cannot protect her from what is coming, then at least there will be something left behind. Something to prove she was real.
My hand shakes as I write tonight’s entry:
She does not know I was at the tavern. She does not know the Circle is moving at dawn. If she ever finds out, I pray she understands I never meant her harm. But I cannot warn her yet. To protect her, I must first deceive her.
The words burn on the page.
\---
I put the notebook away when I hear a faint sound—the creak of the house settling. Or so I tell myself. But my skin prickles.
Someone is outside.
I blow out the lantern, slide the floorboard back into place, and move to the window. The village street is empty. The dog that usually wanders at this hour is gone. The wind carries no scent of smoke. And yet, I know.
Something is watching.
I step out into the cool night air, dagger tucked at my side. My boots crunch softly against the dirt. I walk the length of the house, slow and steady. My ears strain for the faintest movement, the shallowest breath.
At first, nothing. Then, from the edge of the trees, a flicker of pale eyes. Too high to belong to an animal. Too still to belong to a man.
My grip on the dagger tightens. The Watcher.
It does not move. It only watches. Then, as if it knows I am about to take a step closer, it slips back into the dark. Gone.
I remain rooted in place, chest heaving, heart slamming. For a long moment, I consider chasing it. But I cannot leave my family unguarded. And besides—something tells me I was not meant to catch it tonight. Only to know it was there.
\---
The next day, the Circle gathers on the northern ridge. The dawn is pale, mist curling low over the ground. Rylan crouches near the tracks he spoke of, tracing the edges with his gloved finger. Long impressions, three-toed, pressed deep into the soil. He looks up at me.
“Not animal,” he repeats. “Not human.”
Malek smirks, hefting his axe. “Maybe your girl sprouted claws.”
I ignore him, though my jaw tightens.
Selah is with us too this morning, silent as always. She kneels and lays a charm of braided twine near the tracks. The wind seems to shift when she does it, as if acknowledging her offering. I have never asked where she learned such things. Some truths are better left untouched.
“We follow,” Rylan says, rising.
And we do. For hours, through twisted trees and damp earth, deeper into the wilds where few dare to tread. The tracks wind erratically, sometimes doubling back, sometimes vanishing altogether before reappearing yards away.
“Toying with us,” Malek mutters.
“No,” I answer. “Testing us.”
They glance at me, but no one argues.
\---
By midday, the trail ends at a clearing. An old ruin sits there, crumbled stone half-swallowed by vines. I have been here before, years ago, when whispers of witches drew the Circle to investigate. We found nothing then, only broken walls and silence.
But today, the silence feels alive.
Rylan motions for us to spread out. Selah grips her daggers. Malek mutters a prayer under his breath.
And me? I stand in the center, staring at the stones, feeling the weight of Ree’s name pressing against my skull.
Because I know, with a certainty that chills me, that she is tied to this place. I do not know how. I do not know why. But the Watcher’s eyes from the night before linger in my mind, and the dying man’s words echo: The Watcher sees her.
\---
“Tracy.” Rylan’s voice cuts through my thoughts. He holds out a piece of cloth he found snagged on the stones.
I take it. My stomach knots. It is familiar.
Ree’s scarf.
Malek whistles low. “Looks like your little bird has been here.”
I fold the cloth carefully, hiding my reaction. I cannot let them see the storm inside me.
“Then she’s closer to this than we thought,” I say evenly. “We stay quiet. We stay sharp. No mistakes.”
They nod, satisfied. They think I am loyal to the Circle above all else. They do not know I am already planning my next move, already considering how to keep Ree one step ahead of their suspicions.
But as I slip the scarf into my coat, I feel the betrayal thick in my throat. She trusted me. And here I am, holding evidence that may damn her.
The others turn to scan the ruin again. I stay still, watching the trees, because I know we are not alone. Something unseen lingers at the edges of the clearing. Waiting.
And for the first time in years, I am not sure if the Circle is the hunter—or the prey.