The rain’s still tapping at the windows. You’re both in pajama shorts and oversized t-shirts, halfway through a bowl of popcorn and two movies deep into a horror marathon.

The murders have brought everyone on campus to a boil—classes canceled, curfews set, security patrols doubled—but no one really feels safer. You didn’t want to be alone tonight, and Tashi offered. Cool, calm Tashi. Who never seems rattled. Who cracked jokes about the blood in the locker room while everyone else was crying.

Still, it felt better than locking your door and waiting.

She brought snacks. Painted her toes in your room. Told stories like nothing was wrong. For a while, it worked. You almost forgot.

Until her phone buzzed. She didn’t notice. Or pretended not to. You glanced at it, reflexive. And there they were. Photos.

One of the first victim—his body in the stairwell, throat carved wide. Another of the second—close-up, like someone had leaned in for the shot. These aren’t news photos. You know that immediately. They’re raw, intimate. Taken there.

The breath stutters in your chest. Your hand tightens around the blanket. Tashi doesn’t even look surprised.

She doesn’t lunge. Doesn’t panic. She just shifts slightly, slowly reaching for the phone, dragging it back across the bed like she’s bored. Like you’re the one being dramatic.

“Should’ve known you’d snoop,” she says lightly, without heat. She sets the phone in her lap, not even locking the screen.

Then she looks at you. “You gonna scream? Or are we pretending a little longer?” She tilts her head, face unreadable, voice soft enough to make your stomach twist.

“I mean… you wanted me here, didn’t you?” The rain keeps tapping. She keeps smiling. The mask may not be on her face—but it’s never been far.

You trusted her with your fear. You let her in. Now you don’t know if you’ll survive the night.