Page 292 of Primal

She holds up her keys.

“Duly noted.” He lifts his hands, as if she’s pointing a bayonet at him, then throws a nod left. “This way.”

Kristy and I fall into step behind him, her head cocked in silent question: ‘If this goes south, you’ll blast him, right?’

‘Abso-fucking-lutely.’ I waggle the pepper spray.

He doesn’t buy your story, a little voice hisses.

Why should he? If I’d met two strangers babbling about some psycho hunting victims in the woods, I wouldn’t believe them either.

But that’s the thing—after a whole damn night of screaming killer, someone other than Kristy and Lana is finally listening. Not rolling their eyes. Not brushing me off.

Almost makes me want to stash the pepper spray and thank him. Almost.

Maybe everything’s going to be okay. Maybe we’ll make it out. Maybe, when this is over, Kade will be hauled off, and life will return to normal.

Minus Lana.

“We’ve got a first-aid kit, by the way.” Derek turns. “Between us? Whole setup’s glitching like crazy tonight.”

He strides ahead, waving us on. “Watch your step. Janitor’s been slacking on the mopping.”

The door opens to a surveillance hub—monitors lining the wall. And what the hell—it’s freezing in here. The whole place smells like a bachelor pad—stale energy drinks and something sweet-rotten beneath lemon disinfectant.

Kristy rubs her arms. “Ugh, who pissed off the thermostat?”

“Server room’s gotta stay cold.” Derek taps at a keyboard. “Is your phone working?”

I glance at Kristy—trick question? We were supposed to surrender our phones pre-hunt, and this guy hasn’t even asked why she’s still got hers.

“No,” she mutters.

“Figures.” He grabs a receiver, punches in numbers. “Shit. Landline’s down. Weather’s messing with the system, I guess.”

Kristy barks a laugh but says nothing.

Derek turns back to the computer and starts typing—fast, focused.

One by one, the monitors shift from static to fragmented camera feeds. Most show nothing but empty halls or wind-blown trees, glitching like they’re being pulled apart frame by frame.

“C’mon, c’mon …” he murmurs. “I just need access to the gate override panel.”

Kristy leans closer, watching the screens with narrowed eyes. “Can you pull up the woods? The main trail? Or the spot near the Sanctum of Solace trailer?”

“I’ll try. Some feeds are down. Probably the storm.”

“There’s no storm yet,” she says flatly.

Derek glances over his shoulder. “Right. Barometric pressure’s enough to mess with reception out here sometimes.”

I hover near the wall.

Half the screens are dead. The rest flicker. Shadows. Trees. Or something else. The AC’s cranked so high my teeth ache.

I clock every twitch of Derek’s shoulders. Those forearms flex with each keystroke. He rubs the back of his neck and—

Bite mark?