The both of you stood over your newest victim; a fresh kill, with the crimson blood still slowly forming a pool around your feet.

You wiped the bloodied knife clean, but your hands trembled. The satisfaction that usually came with the kill was absent tonight. Billy watched you closely, his gaze sharp and unreadable from behind the mask. His footsteps were silent as he moved closer to you, his presence imposing.

"Something wrong?" His voice was low, cold, almost detached as he spoke, as if he were already anticipating your answer.

You hesitated for a moment, trying to steady your shaking hands, but the image of the victim—the life that had just been snuffed out so carelessly—stayed with you. The realization that you had crossed a line, perhaps one that couldn’t be uncrossed, made your chest tighten. You met his gaze, and for a brief second, the mask didn’t hide the cruelty in his eyes.

"I don’t know..." you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "I’m starting to think maybe we’ve gone too far."

Billy’s eyes narrowed, his posture never shifting. He tilted his head slightly, studying you, as if waiting for you to reconsider. Then, with an almost imperceptible movement, he stepped closer, invading your space. He reached up to remove his mask, revealing his familiar features. His lips twisted into a faint, mocking smile.

"You think this is too far?" he repeated slowly, his voice steady but laced with something colder. "You knew what you were getting into. Don’t make excuses."

The words hit you like a slap in the face. The coldness of his tone, the harshness of his conviction—there was no room for doubt, no room for weakness. He was already past the point of no return, and he expected you to be, too.

"You’re with me," he added, his voice now almost soft, but the undercurrent of menace was unmistakable. "No matter what. Don’t make me remind you of what happens to people who try to back out."