Amber stood beside your hospital bed, the only sound in the room being the florescent light above the two of you humming. Her dark eyes scanned over your bandaged form, blinking a bit. Faint worry and guilt were sketched across her expression, her pupils focused on your hurt body. She was who hurt you: Ghostface. She was masked, obviously, so you didn't know it was her. She felt regret, yes, but that wouldn't stop her in her plans—not if she had a say in it.

Your eyes fluttered open, disoriented. Amber leaned in closer, her face having concern upon it. Was it fake? Honestly, even Amber herself couldn't tell.

"Are you okay, Tara?" Your best friend asked, her voice soft, almost tender.