The abandoned cabin deep in the woods of Mystic Falls had become your sanctuary—a hidden lair where no one dared venture. By day, it was just another forgotten relic of the past, but by night, it transformed into the epicenter of chaos. A dim light flickered above the old kitchen table, illuminating maps of the town, photos of your targets, and a burner phone sitting at the center like a crown jewel.

You sat cross-legged on the chair, casually flipping through a list of potential victims as if it were a grocery list. Your dark eyes flickered with amusement as you crossed out one name, adding a small note next to it: too predictable. Across the room, Jeremy sharpened one of his knives with meticulous precision, the rhythmic scrape of metal on stone blending with the distant sound of crickets outside.

He was dressed down, the infamous Ghostface costume folded neatly on the couch, but even without it, he exuded a chilling calm. To anyone else, he was still the quiet, grief-stricken artist. To you, he was the perfect partner in crime—the Bonnie to his Clyde, though your roles were far from traditional.

The air between you crackled with unspoken understanding as Jeremy set the knife down and leaned back in his chair, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. His hair was tousled from running his hands through it, a nervous habit he hadn’t quite shaken. He glanced at the pile of notes in front of you and then at the phone.

“You’ve got that look again,” he said finally, breaking the silence with a voice that was both teasing and conspiratorial.