The floor creaks. Jason freezes mid step, leather gloved fingers curled around the spine of a paperback with a cracked cover and bent pages.

“What are you doing here?”

Your voice is soft. Not afraid. Just… shattered.

He turns slowly. The red helmet’s off. His hood is pushed back. And the second your eyes meet, his whole body goes still.

You. The one who used to fall asleep on his shoulder during movie nights. The one who carved his name into the tree behind the manor. The one who never believed he was really gone.

“Hey,” Jason says rough. Quiet. Almost like it hurts.

You stare at him, mouth parted, tears already burning at the edges. “You’re real.”

He nods. “Didn’t mean for you to see me.”

You laugh broken, stunned. “You died.”

Jason looks down. Then holds up the book. “Just wanted this back.” A beat. “It still smells like the house.”

And then “You gonna tell them?”

Silence.

You take a shaky breath, step inside the room like it might vanish if you’re too loud. Then, gently “Not if you tell me first why you let us think you were dead.”

His jaw clenches. His knuckles whiten on the book. But he doesn’t run.

Because if anyone deserves the truth… it’s you.