The control room hums with anticipation, screens illuminating the faces of hunters preparing for release. I stand beside Cyrus, our matching black-and-yellow masks catching the glow of the monitors as we observe our fellow predators.

“Look at Blackwood,” Cyrus murmurs, nodding toward the second youngest brother hunched over a screen. “He’s fixated on the tech girl.”

I study Landon’s body language—tense shoulders, fingers tapping against his thigh, eyes never leaving Sadie’s monitor. His obsession is written in every line of his posture.

“Predictable,” I reply, voice low. “He’s researched her.”

Cyrus smirks. “Should we fuck with him a little? Tell him we’re also interested in his precious hacker?”

I consider the strategic value. “No need to antagonize unnecessarily. We know our target.”

The countdown still has six minutes left on the clock. Plenty of time to position ourselves for maximum advantage.

Cyrus’s eyes gleam with mischief. “I’m going to poke the bear.”

Before I can object, he’s already moving toward Landon. I follow, calculating potential outcomes. Landon’s shoulders stiffen as we approach.

“She’s pretty,” Cyrus says, gesturing toward Sadie’s monitor. “Smart choice.”

He doesn’t turn. “She’s mine. Find someone else.”

I watch the interaction dispassionately, noting Landon’s possessiveness—unusual for him. Typically, he approaches the Hunt with clinical detachment. This emotional investment deviates from the pattern.

Cyrus laughs. “That’s not how the Hunt works, Blackwood. Fair game until someone claims her.”

I step closer, analyzing Sadie’s movements on screen. “The hacker. Interesting profile. Systematic mind. Responds well to dominance.”

Landon’s hands curl into fists—another tell. He’s emotionally compromised.

“Stay away from her,” he warns, turning to face us.

Cyrus catches my eye, a silent question passing between us. I give an imperceptible nod. We have our prey, and it isn’t Sadie.

“Rules state the first hunter to catch a prey gets exclusive rights,” I remind him, intentionally provoking.

“I know the fucking rules,” Landon hisses.

The countdown hits one minute. Perfect. Landon will rush blindly toward Sadie, leaving our actual target—Keira—easier prey.

The sixty-second mark hits, and a buzzer echoes through the control room. Doors unlock simultaneously across the compound. The Hunt begins.

I exchange a look with Cyrus, our silent communication perfected over years. We position ourselves strategically at the front of the group, knowing Landon will be watching us.

“On your mark,” I murmur to Cyrus, who’s barely containing his excitement.

The doors slide open, and adrenaline spikes.

“Let’s make it convincing,” Cyrus says, loud enough for Landon to hear. “I want to see if the hacker runs as fast as she codes.”

I nod slightly, noting Landon’s posture stiffening further. His fingers curl into fists at his sides. Perfect.

We burst forward with the other hunters, a coordinated pack splitting into individual predators. Landon charges ahead, moving with uncharacteristic urgency toward the eastern sector—where the monitors showed Sadie heading.

I sprint slightly to his left, Cyrus to his right. The calculated positioning makes it appear we’re flanking him to reach Sadie first. Landon accelerates, his usually composed demeanor replaced by something primal.

“He’s taking the bait,” Cyrus says through our private comms.

We maintain pursuit for two hundred meters, just long enough for Landon to believe his competition is real. He doesn’t hesitate, veering left. We follow for thirty more seconds before I tap my earpiece twice—our signal.

“Now,” I command.

We pivot simultaneously, breaking right. Our true hunt begins.

“Think she’ll fight?” Cyrus asks, voice rich with anticipation.

“She’s too smart for that. She’ll negotiate.”

“Did you see his face?” Cyrus chuckles as we move at a measured pace, taking the route I memorized leading to Keira’s position.

“Transparent. Emotional,” I reply. “Let him have the hacker.”

We move in unison through the labyrinth, our footsteps perfectly synchronized from years of hunting together.

The industrial maze of Purgatory stretches before us like a metallic labyrinth—concrete walls rising fifteen feet high, steel beams crisscrossing overhead, creating shadows that dance across our path. The club’s regular activities continue at the front, but back here, we’re in another world entirely.

“Left,” I murmur to Cyrus without looking at him. I don’t need to. His body shifts in perfect synchronicity with mine, a mirror image trained since childhood.

We pause at a junction where pipes form a lattice above us. I tilt my head, listening. I notice heavy breathing nearby. Keira.

“She’s close,” Cyrus whispers, leaning in unnecessarily close. Anyone else would find our proximity disturbing—the way his fingers brush mine, how our shoulders press together as we calculate our next move. But this is how we’ve always been. Two halves of one predator.

Cyrus’s hand slides to the back of my neck, a familiar gesture that grounds us both. “Should we split up, box her in?”

I shake my head, feeling his fingers tighten slightly at my refusal. “No. We hunt together.”

A metallic clang echoes through the maze.

“She’s playing with us,” Cyrus eyes flash sadistically. “I like her already.”

I reach out to adjust his mask, which has shifted slightly. “Remember, brother—we need to make this last.”

I watch Cyrus’s eyes track the direction of the sound. His pupils dilate with excitement, a familiar wildness replacing his usual controlled demeanor. After years of hunting together, I recognize the shift immediately—my brother is slipping his leash.

“She’s running scared,” he whispers, voice husky with anticipation. “Can almost smell her fear from here.”

I nod, predicting Keira’s movements through the maze. Based on the layout of Purgatory, she’s making obvious choices—exactly what prey does under duress.

“She’s not running blind,” I say, keeping my voice level despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins. “She’s moving with purpose, but she’s out of her element. Scared, but thinking.”

Cyrus laughs, the sound echoing off concrete walls. “Makes it better when they think they have a chance.”

I place a steadying hand on his shoulder. My brother’s unpredictability is both his greatest asset and liability during a hunt. The unhinged quality that makes him so effective also makes him dangerous—to himself and occasionally our objectives. Where I calculate, Cyrus combusts.

“She’ll be listening for us,” I murmur. “Expecting heavy footfalls, rapid pursuit.”

“Or maybe,” Cyrus says, his eyes glittering, “she wants to be caught.”

The thought sends a charge through both of us. The idea of Keira, with all that controlled grace we witnessed on stage, being reduced to prey, scrambling through unfamiliar territory, pulse racing, breath coming in short gasps as she tries to outmaneuver us.

I notice Cyrus shift his weight, his hand moving to adjust himself in his pants. His arousal is physical, immediate. Mine manifests differently—a tightening in my chest, a sharpening of focus.

“Control yourself,” I say, though I feel the same tension coursing through my body. “We have seventy-two hours. No need to rush.”

Cyrus checks his watch. “We’re already fifteen minutes in. Clock’s ticking.”

I scan the maze ahead of us, noting the most optimal route based on the echo of her footsteps. “Patience.”

“I don’t want to waste a single minute.” Cyrus’s voice drops to a growl that would terrify most men. “I want to spend as long as possible completely tearing her apart.”

The hunger in his voice is familiar—my brother has always approached hunts with visceral intensity, where I prefer a measured approach. We complement each other that way. His savagery and my calculation. Two different methods with the same end goal.

“She’s not like the others,” I remind him, tracking the sound of movement ahead. “Breaking her will require finesse.”

Cyrus laughs, the sound echoing off concrete walls. “Finesse? I’ll leave that to you, brother. I plan to strip away every layer she thinks she has until there’s nothing left but need.”

I observe him—the tension in his shoulders, the predatory gleam in his eyes. Where I harbor ice in my veins, Cyrus burns with barely contained fire.

“You saw her dance,” he continues, voice low and dangerous. “All that discipline. All that restraint. I want to watch it crumble, piece by piece.”

I nod, acknowledging the appeal of dismantling something so carefully constructed. “We’ll each break her in our own way.”

Cyrus retrieves his knife, running his thumb along the edge. Not to test its sharpness—we both know it’s perfectly honed—but for the pleasure of feeling its potential. The blade catches light as he twirls it between his fingers, a nervous habit from childhood that now reads as threatening.

“When I’m done with her,” he whispers, “she’ll forget she ever had a will separate from ours.”

I recognize the darkness consuming him—it surfaces during every hunt, though never this intensely. Something about Keira has awakened a dormant beast within both of us, but Cyrus lacks my restraint.

A flash of purple fabric catches my eye—a glimpse of Keira’s hunt dress darting between steel columns thirty meters ahead. My pulse quickens imperceptibly, but I maintain my composure, figuring out the optimal interception point based on her trajectory.

Cyrus spots her a second later. His reaction is immediate.

“There,” he growls, already moving before the word fully leaves his mouth.

I watch my brother’s stalking transform into something feral. His shoulders hunch forward, his stride lengthens, and he launches himself toward our prey with single-minded determination. The careful approach we discussed moments ago evaporates in that flash of purple.

“Cyrus—” I begin, but he’s already too far gone.

I note the slight tremor in his hands, the intensity of his breathing through our comm link. Seven years of participating in the Hunt, and I’ve never seen him this affected by a target. Not even close.

So much for strategy. So much for making her wait, building the anticipation until she’s half-mad with fear and uncertainty. Cyrus has abandoned the calculated pursuit we perfected over years, choosing instead to give in to base instinct.

And yet, I can’t bring myself to be irritated by his lack of discipline. Something about Keira Valentino has slipped beneath my own carefully maintained control, creating a similar urgency I’m fighting to suppress.

I adjust my timetable. Our original plan—to track her movements, learn her patterns, and intercept her at the perfect psychological moment—clearly requires revision. Cyrus has made that decision for both of us.

“Looks like we won’t be taking our time with this one after all,” I mutter to myself, resigned to the inevitable.

I launch forward, following my brother’s path. I move with precision through the maze, each step measured yet swift. Unlike Cyrus, I don’t make unnecessary noise. My pursuit is silent, calculated—the perfect complement to his raw force.

Between the two of us, Keira Valentino doesn’t stand a chance. The thought sends an unexpected surge of anticipation through my body as I follow Cyrus deeper into the industrial labyrinth.

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