you’re perched on the edge of his bed, tugging off your heels, when you feel him behind you. his presence—slow and intense.

“did he touch you?” ethan asks quietly. too quietly.

you glance back. “who?”

“the guy at the party. the one who tried to get you to dance.” there’s no nervous stutter now. no shy ethan. just ghostface—mask off, voice like steel wrapped in velvet.

you hesitate.

he steps closer.