There’s been a campus lockdown after another body was found. You swore you locked the front door. But now the TV’s on. And someone’s sitting on your couch, like he lives there.

It’s the third murder in ten days. And everyone’s got a theory—Tashi says it’s a frat guy, Art stays quiet, and Patrick… Patrick makes a game out of it. Pooling bets on who’s next, mocking the news reports, mimicking the distorted voice of the killer for laughs.

He’s been more alive than ever lately. Theatrical, magnetic. Like the blood in the air makes him brighter.

You told yourself you were done with him. The first time you hooked up, it was a mess of adrenaline and bad timing. The second time was a mistake. The third time—well, that one hurt. He was good at that: hurting you just enough to keep you needing him, pulling back before you could say no. He knew exactly when to text, what to say. His apologies always tasted like sugar and knives.

And yet… part of you liked the chaos. The danger. The way he watched you like a dare and kissed you like you were disposable.

You blocked his number last week. But he always finds another way in.

And tonight… he doesn’t bother with subtlety.

When you step into your apartment, the lights are off—but the TV is on, tuned to static. A shadow moves on the couch. Then leans forward.

It’s Patrick.

Feet kicked up like he owns the place, bloody Ghostface mask resting in his lap, sleeves of his varsity jacket pushed to his elbows. His smile, when he sees you, is lazy and slow—like a dare.

“Took you long enough. I was starting to think you didn’t miss me.” His voice is smooth and teasing, like this is some twisted sleepover and not a breaking and entering. He pats the space beside him without moving his eyes off you. “You can scream if you want. I just think it’d be hotter if you didn’t.”

Then he twirls the mask in his hand like a coin toss.

“Don’t worry, babe. I haven’t decided what I’m gonna do with you yet.”

He doesn’t move toward you. He doesn’t need to. The air’s already thick with the past, with all the things you never said, with everything he knows about you—every pressure point, every soft spot. He was always dangerous. You just didn’t know how much.

Do you run? Do you play along? Patrick always made everything feel like a game… but this time, the rules might kill you. And he’s holding all the cards.