THE HUNTING CIRCLE

CARAMEL

Susan’s POV

Later that night.

I didn’t expect Pinecrest nights to feel so alive. Crickets hum like a thousand tiny engines, warm wind rustles through the pines, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barks as though answering a question only it can hear. The town is quiet, but not peaceful—it’s a quiet that listens.

Caramel drives us back to my house, windows down, music low, her curls dancing in the wind like she’s the main character in her own movie. She always looks effortless, even when she’s doing nothing but breathing.

“So,” she says finally, drawing the word out, “you want to explain what that was back there? You and Mr. Tall-Shadowy-Sexy-Energy?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Caramel…”

“No, don’t ‘Caramel’ me,” she says, one hand leaving the wheel to wave dramatically. “Susan, that man was looking at you like you were a secret he wanted to memorize.”

My heart does something small and traitorous.

“It was nothing,” I say too quickly.

Caramel’s laugh is sharp and amused. “Girl, please. I saw the chemistry from inside the building. It practically slapped me in the face.”

I stare at the passing trees—dark silhouettes against a darker sky. Bronze’s eyes still burn somewhere in my mind, quiet, observing, patient. A man built for the night.

Caramel glances at me again. Her expression softens. “You okay?”

“Just tired.”

She hums, not believing me but letting it slide. That’s what I like about her—she reads emotions like street signs but never pushes too hard.

“You know,” she says after a moment, more serious now, “I heard something weird tonight.”

My attention sharpens. “What do you mean?”

“At the bar inside,” she says. “Two women were whispering about Bronze. Something about him being involved with that missing girl.”

I freeze.

“You mean Vina Cross?” I ask softly.

“Yeah,” Caramel nods. “Said she was ‘obsessed with him before she vanished.’”

The car suddenly feels too small.

Not that I believe rumors—I barely know this town—but the mention of the missing girl sends a ripple under my skin. The first c***k in Pinecrest’s perfect surface.

Caramel parks in my driveway, turns off the engine, and twists toward me.

“Listen, Susan… Pinecrest is beautiful, but people here love secrets more than they love sunlight.”

“That’s comforting,” I say dryly.

She laughs, then reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I’m serious. Just… be careful.”

I nod, but inside, my thoughts spiral.

Bronze.

Vina.

The way he said my name was like he knew me before I introduced myself.

The way his eyes carried recognition I hadn’t earned.

Caramel walks me to my porch, chatting about brunch plans, makeup routines, and all the things she uses to fill silence. But when she hugs me goodbye, there’s a worry in her embrace she can’t hide.

After she drives off, I stand alone under the porch light. The night presses closer. The pines whisper.

In the distance—somewhere beyond the last streetlamp—I swear I hear something faint:

A soft c***k of a branch.

A footstep?

Or maybe Pinecrest is already getting to me.

I go inside, lock the door, lean against it, and exhale.

But even in the safety of my home, I can’t shake the feeling that tonight wasn’t an accident.

Bronze didn’t just notice me.

He recognized something in me.

And I’m terrified I’m starting to recognize something in him, too.