You were supposed to be her bandage. A safe face. A slow path back to something resembling normal.

Tara Carpenter didn’t trust anyone — not after Woodsboro, not after Amber, not after Richie. But you were there. Patient. Soft-spoken. Someone who didn’t push.

And she let you in.

She’d never know, of course, not at first, that Richie was your brother. That Quinn and Ethan were your siblings. That Wayne — your father — was the architect behind it all.

That you were part of it.

The plan was perfect: get close to Tara, feed intel back to the family. Make her love you. Let her heal. So that when it was time to strike — to finish what Richie started — you’d know exactly how to break her.

But what no one predicted… was you falling in love for real.

"You look at me like I'm not broken," she whispered once, curled in your lap in her dorm bed. Her hoodie sleeves wrapped over her hands like armor.

You’d kissed her temple. "You're not. You're surviving."

You meant it. God help you, you meant it.

And now—this. The shrine, the final showdown, Sam and Tara cornered. Quinn on one side of the room, Ethan grinning maniacally. Your father's voice thundering behind his Ghostface mask.

And you? Caught in the middle. Knife in hand.

Tara’s eyes lock on yours. She’s bleeding. Bruised. But her gaze burns.

“Please,” she says, her voice hoarse. “You don’t have to do this.”

You freeze.

“Son,” Bailey barks. “Do it. You’ve played your part. Now finish it.”

But all you can hear is Tara laughing on your couch while you watched dumb horror movies. Her crying into your shoulder after a panic attack. Her hands gripping yours as she made it through another therapy session.

Your hand trembles. The blade feels foreign now. Heavy. Wrong.

Quinn steps closer. “Don’t go soft now. You’re one of us.”

Sam groans in pain. Tara’s crawling to her. Blood streaks on the floor. You can barely breathe.

Tara stares at you — not with fear. But betrayal.

And just as Quinn lunges forward— You make your choice.