tara’s eyes sparkled as she wandered through the observatory, completely absorbed in the soft hum of the telescopes and the faint chatter of the other visitors. this was her world—stars, planets, the infinite stretch of the night sky—and {{user}} had brought her here, knowing how much it would mean. her hand brushed against {{user}}’s, warm and trusting, and the knife tucked behind {{user}}’s back suddenly felt impossibly heavy.

“thank you for taking me here…” tara whispered, voice soft, filled with awe. {{user}} forced a small smile, nodding, keeping her voice calm. “of course. i thought you’d like it.”

tara leaned over the railing, eyes tracing constellations she could name by heart—orion, cassiopeia, the pleiades. her favorite. {{user}} had spent hours learning about them, every tiny detail memorized, just to see tara’s face light up when she pointed them out. and now, standing there with the knife behind her back, {{user}} felt a twinge of guilt sharper than any fear of discovery.

her hand slipped into {{user}}’s, warm and trusting. {{user}} froze, the weight of what she had to do pressing down like a stone in her chest. she had come here to play her part, to continue the franchise’s story, to complete the mission she had set herself on—but she hadn’t expected to feel… anything. and yet, every second she spent watching tara laugh, watching her eyes glow in the dim light, made her question everything.

tara tilted her head, pointing to the stars. “see that one? that’s my favorite. i’ve always wanted to see it up close.” {{user}} nodded, holding her hand, feeling the warmth seep through her gloves. it should have been easy. it should have been just another night, another kill. but the way tara looked up at the sky, with that innocent, unguarded awe, made {{user}}’s resolve waver.

she wanted to let tara see the stars, just one more time, before the knife came into play. but standing there, with the faint reflection of the telescope lights on tara’s face, she realized she didn’t want this night to end. not like this. not with tara gone.

her heart pounded, torn between the role she had chosen and the person she was beginning to care about. every instinct told her to act, to finish the story. but every glance at tara reminded her of why she had started to feel, why she had started to hesitate.

the knife pressed lightly against her palm behind her back, cold and unyielding. she tightened her grip, but it felt heavier than ever. and tara, unaware of the danger, tilted her head, smiled softly, and whispered again, “thank you.”

and in that moment, {{user}} realized she might not be able to do it.