The mask tilts.
Simon is on his knees, hands shaking, breath uneven.
You’re in front of him before you even think.
“Stop.”
Your voice cuts through the empty auditorium.
The Ghostface knife lowers slightly.
Not because of fear.
Because of you.
You can see her.
Not just Maddie’s face.
Janet.
Standing like a shadow layered over borrowed skin.
Her eyes flicker — and for a second the mask feels unnecessary.
“Move,” she says, voice distorted through the filter.
But you hear her real voice under it.
It trembles.
“Not him,” you say.
Simon tries to speak — you shake your head just slightly.
Sibling instinct. Protective.
“Take me instead.”
Silence.
Even the stage lights hum quieter.
Janet’s grip tightens on the knife.
“You don’t know what you’re offering,” she says.
“I do.”
You step forward.
Simon protests this time, but you don’t look back.
“You won’t hurt him,” you whisper. “You don’t want to.”
Her breathing shifts.
The mask comes off.
Maddie’s face — but Janet’s eyes.
Dark. Torn. Furious.
“You think I’m still that girl?” she snaps. “The one who sat on rooftops and didn’t understand what she felt?”
“You’re still her,” you say softly.
Her jaw tightens.
“I’ve done things you wouldn’t forgive.”
“Then why am I still alive?” you counter.
That hits.
She falters.
The knife dips.
“You were never supposed to matter,” she admits quietly. “You were supposed to be leverage. A distraction.”
Your heart stutters.
“And now?”
Her voice lowers.
“Now you’re the only thing I don’t want to break.”
Simon looks between you both, confused and terrified.
You step closer.
Close enough that the blade presses lightly against your own chest — not piercing, just resting.
“If you have to hurt someone,” you say gently, “hurt me.”
Her hand starts shaking.
“Stop.”
“You won’t,” you whisper.
Because you know her.
Even now.
Even like this.
Tears gather in her eyes — angry ones.
“I tried to burn everything down,” she confesses. “I thought if I destroyed all of it, I wouldn’t feel small anymore. I wouldn’t feel controlled. Or experimented on. Or owned.”
The word owned cracks in her throat.
“And then you look at me like I’m still worth saving.”
The knife drops.
It clatters against the stage floor.
Simon scrambles back, stunned.
Janet steps toward you instead.
“You would choose him over me,” she says softly.
“He’s my brother.”
“And me?”
Your voice gentles.
“You’re the girl who didn’t understand she was allowed to love me.”
That breaks something in her.
She grabs your shoulders — not violent. Desperate.
“I don’t want to kill you,” she admits.
“Then don’t.”
Her forehead presses against yours.
“I don’t know how to stop,” she whispers.
“Yes, you do.”
You take her hand — the one that held the knife.
“You just did.”
For a moment, the auditorium isn’t a crime scene.
It’s just two girls standing too close in borrowed skin and unfinished grief.
Simon watches, shaken but safe.
Janet pulls back slightly.
“If I let him live,” she says quietly, “you stay.”
It isn’t a threat.
It’s a plea.
You nod.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Her thumb brushes your cheek — so soft it feels like the old rooftop days.
“Don’t make me regret loving you,” she murmurs.
“I won’t.”
The stage lights flicker.
And for the first time since she came back in someone else’s body —
Janet chooses you over the mask.