Shirley
The note was tucked inside my locker—no return address, no indication of who had slipped it in. Just a single sentence scrawled in messy red ink:
“The hunters are already inside the walls.”
My fingers trembled as I held the paper, heart pounding like a warning bell. Every muscle in my body tensed. The paper felt like it was burning in my hand, like it wasn’t meant to be touched—like it carried something more than just words.
I looked over my shoulder. The break room was empty. Zara had left earlier, and the bar was still closed for another thirty minutes. Still, I wasn’t alone. That much I knew.
Was it a prank?
No. This wasn’t just paranoia. Someone knew. Someone was watching. And the warning didn’t feel like a threat—it felt like a plea.
The hunters… inside the walls.
My
