Page 7 of Prey

He’s wrong.

I’ve been hunting him since the day Leo handed me that too-clean background check and stumbled over the word sealed. Since I saw the way Grey looked at me in the elevator, like a starving man looks at a meal. Since I realized whatever made him scrub his past this clean didn’t scare me. It interested me.

I want to see how far he’ll go. I want to see what happens when someone like him obsessed, careful, empty in all the right places fixes himself to someone who notices.

I want to be there when he finally breaks. And I want to be the one who puts him back together.

My phone buzzes.

Leo: He’s still there. Want me to lock him out?

Leo is nervous around anomalies. That’s his job. Flag the unusual. Treat it like risk.

I type back: No. Let him stay.

Leo: You’re sure?

I look at the camera feed. Grey is standing up now. Walking toward the elevator. He thinks he’s alone. Thinks no one saw him press his forehead against my door, touch the wood like it was something sacred.

Me: I’m sure. Don’t touch him. Don’t warn him. Just watch.

Leo sends back a thumbs-up. He stopped questioning me months ago.

I open the Grey folder again. A subfolder, audio, mostly mundane. Grey on the phone. Grey typing. Grey humming under his breath. Keyboard clicks. Printer jams. The office breathing around him.

But one file I’ve listened to more times than I’ll admit.

A week ago. Late night. Grey was in my office.

He didn’t know I was listening, whiskey in hand, watching the feed from the stairwell. I saw him take out my watch. Press it to his wrist. Saw the way his throat moved when he swallowed.

But the audio was something else.

His breathing. Fast and shallow. A broken sound when he touched his throat.

And then, so quietly.

Cain.

Just my name.

But the way he said it. Like a prayer. Like a threat. Like he was already inside me, under my skin, writing himself into my nerves.

I saved that file.

I named it Prey.

I play it now.

His voice fills the room, soft, wrecked, trembling. Cain.

Chapter 5

Cain

I'm in the stairwell, phone pressed to my face, watching the feed.

Grey is in my office. He’s been standing in the middle of the room for a long moment. Just breathing. Just looking. Then he walks to my desk. Runs his fingers along the edge. Slowly, like he’s memorizing the texture.