The Unseen Hunter

Chapter 15: The Unseen Hunter

The walk back to the Montgomery estate was fraught with tension, every step weighed down by the eerie silence that clung to the woods. Ian Wren held the black box tightly, its cold surface pressed against his side, as though he feared it might vanish if he loosened his grip. Clara Montgomery walked just behind him, her pale face streaked with dirt and fear. Sheriff Evelyn Cross brought up the rear, her eyes constantly scanning their surroundings, her gun at the ready.

"What did he mean?" Clara asked suddenly, breaking the oppressive silence. Her voice was hoarse, trembling. "What did Blackwell mean when he said the hour would claim what it's owed?"

Ian's jaw tightened, but he didn't look back. "He's trying to scare us," he said, though even he didn't fully believe it. "The society feeds on fear. It's how they control people."

"Is it, though?" Evelyn's voice was low, but her words carried weight. "Everything we've seen—the rituals, the symbols, the ledger—it's more than just fear. There's something else driving this."

Ian paused, his flashlight cutting through the thick fog ahead. "We'll figure it out," he said, his tone firm. "The box is the key. Whatever they've been guarding, whatever gives them their power, it's connected to this."

They emerged from the woods and onto the edge of the Montgomery estate. The mansion loomed in the distance, its windows dark and lifeless. The sight of it was almost a relief after the suffocating woods, but the sense of foreboding didn't fade. If anything, it grew stronger, as though something unseen was watching them.

Inside the mansion, Ian placed the black box on the desk in Eleanor's study. The glow of the spirals had faded, leaving only the cold, unassuming object before them. Clara hovered near the doorway, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, while Evelyn stood at Ian's side, her gun still drawn.

"How do we open it?" Evelyn asked.

Ian studied the box, running his fingers over its seamless surface. There was no lock, no hinges, no visible way to access its contents. "I don't know," he admitted. "But if it's as important as they believe, there has to be a way."

Clara stepped closer, her voice barely audible. "She said it would only open for someone who wasn't part of the hour. Someone… untouched by the pact."

Ian turned to her, his expression sharp. "What does that mean?"

Clara hesitated, her eyes darting to the box. "I don't know exactly. But my mother told me that the box was meant to end the hour—to break the society's hold. She said the pact binds them, but the box can unbind them."

Evelyn's brow furrowed. "And what happens if we unbind them?"

Before anyone could answer, a loud crash echoed through the mansion, followed by the sound of glass shattering. Ian spun toward the doorway, his flashlight cutting into the darkness beyond the study.

"They're here," Clara whispered, her voice trembling.

Evelyn stepped forward, her gun raised. "Stay here," she ordered, her tone brooking no argument.

Ian grabbed the black box, tucking it under his arm as he moved to follow Evelyn. "If they want this," he said, his voice low, "then we're not letting it out of our sight."

The three of them crept through the mansion, the flashlight beams slicing through the shadows. The crash had come from the parlor, where Eleanor's body had been found. As they approached, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the halls, accompanied by low, guttural whispers that sent a chill racing down Ian's spine.

When they reached the parlor, the sight that greeted them stopped them in their tracks. The windows were shattered, shards of glass glittering on the floor, and the spiral symbol was scrawled on the walls in what looked like blood. But what truly unnerved Ian was the figure standing in the center of the room.

The man was tall and thin, his face obscured by a dark hood. His hands were outstretched, and in one, he held a knife, its blade glinting faintly in the flashlight's glow. The air around him seemed to ripple, as though reality itself bent to his presence.

"You have the box," the man said, his voice a low rasp that seemed to echo unnaturally. "Return it, and you may yet live."

Ian stepped forward, his grip tightening on the box. "You'll have to kill me first," he said, his voice steady despite the fear clawing at his chest.

The man tilted his head, as though considering Ian's words. Then, with a speed that defied logic, he lunged.