Hunter’sGirl:You’ll see, you’ll all see!
I nudge Declan, who’s beside me. He looks down at the comments, and he, too, furrows his brows. The song finishes, so I end the live stream and take a deep breath as Declan shakes his head.
“What the actual fuck?” he questions.
“I know! We need to watch Ryan when we leave tonight. Maybe put an extra guard on him?” I ask.
Declan nods. “I can take a guard from you if you like and add him to Ryan’s watch?”
“Yes, please. I am no one. I don’t need any security. Take all the guards off me and add them to Ryan’s detail. I’m feeling uneasy about this#Hunter’sGirl… whoever she is.”
“Okay, done,” Declan says before walking off to tell his team about the new arrangement, I assume.
The guys come backstage, and Ryan walks straight past me toward the green room. I exhale and roll my eyes.
Danger looks at me and winces. “I’m sorry about him.”
I sigh. “Do you know what’s wrong?”
He nods. “Yeah.”
I pause, waiting, but he says nothing more. “Can you tell me?”
He exhales. “No. He needs to tell you himself. It’s not something I can get in the middle of. I’m sorry, Till.”
“Well, is it something I did?”
He shakes his head. “No, this is all him. Just… give him time. He’ll be okay. Don’t give up on him, please.”
Slumping my body, I nod. “Okay.”
He rubs my shoulder, looking at me with creased brows and turned-down lips. It’s a sympathetic gesture, and I’m thankful for that. But it doesn’t help me understand Ryan any better. I walk with Danger to the green room, where everyone’s already packing up. Looks like we’re not staying here for too long before heading to the after-party.
I walk in and grab my stuff, moving past Ryan, who casually glances at me before quickly looking away again as I walk by. Gathering my bag and MacBook, I head back out and follow Oliver and Lunar, leaving everyone else to walk behind us. We march through the halls out toward where the Hummer is parked.
I glance toward Declan, and he gives me a single nod, the silent signal that everything’s set and my security detail has Ryan surrounded. The movement is subtle, almost unnoticeable to anyone else, but it loosens the coil in my chest that’s been wound too tight since the show ended. I allow myself a breath, a small smile forming as he pushes open the door and gestures for us to move.
The moment we step outside, the world erupts.
The night air, thick and humid, fills with shrill screams that rise and echo like a siren. Camera flashes explode across the darkness, each burst of light momentarily blinding as the mob presses forward, desperate, loud, and all-consuming. I squint against it, blinking rapidly, trying to keep pace as the band’s entourage tightens its formation. The crowd feels endless—a blur of hands, glittering phone screens, and faces I can’t tell apart.
Then I see HER.
The girl with purple and aqua hair. The one I recognize immediately from countless shows. She’s usually got her camera clutched to her chest like a lifeline, but tonight her hands are empty. That detail hooks in my gut and doesn’t let go. Her eyes aren’t wide with excitement like the others. Instead, they are fixed, focused, her expression sharp enough to cut.
A sense of unease snakes up my spine.
Declan and his team move quickly, widening the perimeter as fans surge around us. I’m walking ahead of the band, half turned, trying to make sure everyone stays close when I hear it,my name, called out from somewhere beyond the mass of people. “Tillie!”
The sound carries above the chaos, piercing through it. I turn instinctively toward it and find the purple-haired girl staring right at me.
“Tillie!” she calls again, louder this time, and then she’s moving.
It happens in a blink. One second, she’s behind the barricade of bodies and noise, and the next, she is charging toward me. My first thought is confusion, my brain refusing to process what my eyes are seeing. Then something catches the light—a flash of silver that glints beneath the overhead lamps. It takes half a heartbeat to register the shape of it, and by the time I do, my stomach drops.
A knife.
“Tille, look out!” Declan shouts, his voice low and commanding, and I react without thinking, muscles locking as I drop my bag and MacBook, the thud of them hitting the pavement barely audible beneath the roar of the crowd. The air feels too thin, every sound amplified—the pounding of feet, the scrape of shoes against asphalt, the single, broken cry of someone shouting,“Stop.”
