But it also had an emoji of a black heart right after it.
So I searched forthatguy’s name, and I found…
This.
Proof.
My first definitive proof that Hunter was involved with truly bad people during his time in London, and that thereis plenty of reason to believe he still would have ties to them now.
Why should I trust him at all, if he has secrets like this?
A bitter, acidic feeling sinks in my stomach.
Even back in high school, I always thought there might be more to Hunter than the image he projected to the world.
Or…
I wanted to believe there was more.
In his chaos, there was so much brightness, too.
He made beautiful art.
Paintings and sketches that showed talent that most high school kids couldn’t dream of.
And Hunter always had one thing I didn’t.
He was comfortable beingalone.
He just wanted to be unbothered, when it came to anything other than a fight.
He hated people, other than Lune.
And after Lune died, Hunter’s only real friend seemed to be their family cat, an all-white fluffball with blue eyes named Pearl.
Could a true psychopath be capable of caring so deeply about things, when hewantsto?
There has to be something more.
There must be.
I need to figure out the rest of the truth, sooner rather than later.
Another anvil lands on my chest as I look at my phone.
I have a message from Hunter.
Yet another terrible decision, letting you get my goddamn number. Now I have a literal fucking criminal texting me.
Guess what?
Yes?
You know that sedative that was used on you in the dart? The campus hospital doesn’t have any of it available.
I shift on the desk chair.
The sound creaks out into the empty basement.
