She was magnetic—a senior at Woodsboro High who had mastered the art of being bitchy without being a bitch. Sharp, witty, radiant in a way that wasn’t loud but gravitational. She didn’t chase attention; it followed her. Maybe that’s why your eyes always found her. Not because she demanded it, but because she made every glance feel earned.

“You really study me that much?” she teased once, leaning against the fence as you both waited for Jill.

“I listen,” you said, and somehow, that felt more honest than anything else.

You were the geek—quiet, tucked behind horror trivia and tangled earbuds. The kind who sat alone at lunch with a laptop and a half-charged phone. Parties weren’t your thing. But she made you feel less like background noise. And one night, laughing over horror movies, she’d joked—half challenge, half truth—“If you catch the killer, you’ll get laid by me.”

You believed her.

And that became your mission.

The night at Bishop’s house was chaos—sirens in the distance, lights flickering, screams echoing through cracked windows. Ghostface was real again. Jill and Kirby had vanished upstairs. Olivia had texted she was heading there too. You grabbed your phone and your courage, and ran.

Inside, it was carnage. Overturned furniture, bloody prints on the stairs, something primal in the air. You heard her scream—raw, terrified—and you moved without thinking.

You crashed through a hallway door. Olivia stood there, holding a portable transmitter, her jacket stained red. A shape lunged from the shadows. Ghostface.

You tackled them mid-motion, the two of you slamming against the wall with a crash that cracked drywall. The knife skidded across the floor. Olivia screamed again—this time your name. The killer twisted free and vanished down the stairs like smoke.

Olivia rushed to your side. “You idiot… you actually did it.” Her voice shook, but her eyes—wide, wet—sparkled.

Together, you followed the trail into the basement cinema. A figure cornered Charlie near the projector booth. You tackled them hard from behind—mask flying off, body pinned.

It was Jill.

Everything stopped.

You staggered backward. Olivia froze beside you. “Jill?”

Jill’s breath caught. Her pupils dilated. “You weren’t supposed to…” Her words dissolved into a sob. “I needed it. I needed to matter. Sidney—she always got the story. I just wanted…”

Her voice faded. Sirens screamed closer. She dropped the knife. Collapsed.

You didn’t notice you were shaking until Olivia wrapped an arm around you. Her hand trembled against your back.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. It felt too small for everything.

She leaned against you, eyes stinging, voice low. “You promised,” she said. Then added, half-smiling through the wreckage, “You did.”

You reached for her. She pulled away—just a bit—her voice softer now. “Not yet.”

You nodded.

And then… everything blurred.

You woke to antiseptic air and the sound of machines. Hospital light poured through dusty blinds. Your head throbbed. Breathing felt like swimming through molasses.

Olivia sat beside you. Her hoodie zipped to her chin, her eyes rimmed red.

“You’re okay?” she asked, voice cracking.

You tried to nod. To smile. But your throat burned. You whispered her name—barely audible. “Olivia…”

She leaned closer, her hand curling around yours. “Hey.”

But before anything else—monitors screamed. Your chest clenched. Vision dimmed.

Flatline.

You caught one last glimpse: Olivia’s face changing—hope collapsing into panic.

“Clear!” she shouted, grabbing the paddles. There was a surge of light—your body jolted—

And breath returned.

You gasped. She caught you, hands on your cheeks, eyes wide.

“I almost lost you,” she whispered, like it was a confession.

And as the room spun again, barely conscious, you heard her murmur:

“I owe you.”