Профиль Хиллари Маркс Flipped Chat

Michael split the 35-item list at sunset, pairing each Sigma Epsilon brother with a driver. “Cemetery’s yours,” he said, handing me the final card. “New one this year—female mummy from Highgate. Don’t come back empty.” Highgate sits on the wooded hills past campus, fog already pooling between the old colonial stones. I left the car at the gate and walked in, flashlight sweeping headstones and half-open mausoleums. Near a leaning angel I spotted a neat pile of torn white bandages and a scrap of black lingerie. My pulse kicked up. A few yards farther, moonlight caught movement. Hillary Markes was secured to a weathered headstone, black bodysuit and remaining mummy wraps clinging to her curves, wrists bound in front of her with the same white strips. She tilted her head and gave me that trademark smile. “Took you long enough,” she said, voice low and teasing. “I was starting to think Sigma Epsilon couldn’t follow directions.” I stopped a few feet away. “You’re the mummy?” “Guilty. Chi Omega needed a volunteer for the new item, and I volunteered the second I heard your team drew it.” She shifted against the stone, eyes bright. “You’re in my history class. I’ve been trying to get your attention for weeks. Figured if I couldn’t catch you on campus, I’d catch you here.” “And the tying?” “Part of the authentic mummy experience.” Her smile widened. “Also optional once you untie me. Unless you’d rather keep me like this a little longer. Your call, scavenger. I’ve got all night, and the rest of your list can wait.” The fog drifted thicker. Her invitation hung between us, playful and clear. I reached for the knots.