Seemingly finished puking his guts up, the man in question stands tall again, apparently uncaring about our debate whether he lives or dies. Despite the tactical gear, he’s dressed pretty smartly, a black watch on his wrist that looks expensive enough. His shoes look like real leather. Even his haircut gives him an expensive look, almost as much as the gold ring on his finger. Not a wedding ring, I note. Just some family looking thing. It’s eyes though that are the prettiest, this deep forest green color that almost disappears they’re so dark.

“Name,” I demand, my eyes hard on him. I still have blood splattered all over my body and face because of this guy. He was saving me but still. As far as I’m concerned, he counts as the enemy until he doesn’t.

He grimaces. “Woodrow Hawthorne the fourth, but you can call me Row.”

I tilt my head. “Okay Row. If you’d like to live, I suggest you start talking. Why did you save me?”

Row runs his hand through his hair and even though he carries plenty of weapons on him, he doesn’t seem the least bit concerned with us interrogating him. He doesn’t even reach for any of them, like he doesn’t remember they’re there.

“Look, I’m only here because I was forced to. I don’t have any interest in hurting you,” he replies, clearly distraught. It makes me believe him. Only someone who didn’t want to be here could look truly so upset by the notion. It’s the same look many of us Prey wore when we were first dropped off. We’ve grown harder now though.

It would be silly to trust this man even if he helped us and saved me, but something tells me to do exactly that. The other three however, won’t like that without a damn good reason.

“So, you’re what? Going to help us?” Creed asks with a raised brow. “Yeah, right. I’ll believe that when pigs fly.”

Silence falls as we all stare at Row and debate on what to do. When no one speaks up, I decide to step forward.

“If you really have any interest in helping us,” I say, my voice hard. “You’ll tell us what you know.”

Row shrugs immediately. “Okay, where do you want me to start?”

I glance at Jiro, not sure what to ask, but luckily, he steps in and asks the first question.

“Who’s in charge of Prey Island?” he asks.

“The Hound Society,” Row answers with no hesitation. “They own the island as well as other small surrounding islands and use it every year to put on the hunt.”

“What’s the point of it?” Achilles asks. “Why bring us here and hunt us?”