Your phone rings at 10:47 PM.

Unknown number.

You almost ignore it. Almost.

“Hello?”

Static. Then a voice — distorted, playful. “Hello.”

Your stomach drops.

Behind the modulation, you recognize her cadence.

“Janet,” you say flatly.

A soft laugh. “Wrong.”

In the background of the call, you hear something else.

A shuffle. A breath that isn’t hers.

Your heart stops. “Let him go.”

“Oh, we’re skipping the pleasantries?” Ghostface purrs. “That’s no fun.”

A screen lights up on your laptop automatically.

A video call. Simon. Tied to a chair.

Alive. Struggling. Your blood goes cold.

“You don’t get to touch him,” you say, already moving.

“Oh, but I already have.”

You can see Janet now — not Maddie. Janet. Leaning into frame, knife glinting in the light as she crouches beside Simon.

He looks terrified.

But when he sees you on the screen, he shakes his head sharply. Don’t.

“Let’s play a game,” she says sweetly.

You don’t hesitate. “Ask.”

A beat. “Oh, you’re not even pretending you don’t know the rules? Cute.”

She circles Simon slowly.

“Question one. In Stab, what was the name of the killer inspired by?”

“Billy Loomis.”

“Correct.”

“Question two. How many times does Sidney get attacked in the first film?”

“Three.”

A pause.

She tilts her head.

“Impressive.”

You grab the butcher knife from the kitchen counter without breaking eye contact with the screen.

“Final question,” she says.

Her voice drops slightly.

“In Stab, what’s the one rule everyone forgets?”

You hesitate. You know horror movies. You know the patterns. But this isn’t about the movie.

It’s about her.

“Trust no one,” you answer.

Silence. Then— “Wrong.”

Simon shouts something, but the audio cuts.

The video glitches. Your phone goes dead. You don’t think. You run.

Out the back door. Across the yard. Through the trees toward the abandoned maintenance shed where you know she’s been hiding lately.

You burst through the door— Knife raised.

“Janet!” The lights flick on.

And she’s standing right there. No mask. No distortion. Just Janet. Calm. Clean. Watching you.

Simon isn’t there.

“You’re predictable,” she says softly.

You freeze.

“You see me,” she continues. “You always see me. So I knew exactly what you’d do.”

Your breath shakes. “Where is he?”

She steps closer.

“You answered the questions correctly,” she says. “Except the last one.”

“You said I was wrong.”

“You were.”

Her eyes lock with yours.

“The rule everyone forgets isn’t ‘trust no one.’”

She leans in slightly.

“It’s that the final girl cant save everyone.”

The air tightens.

“You would’ve run into anything for him,” she says. “Without backup. Without a plan.”

“You staged it,” you realize.

“No,” she corrects. “I tested you.”

Your grip tightens on the knife.

“And if I’d failed?”

Her expression flickers — something darker there.

“Then I would’ve known you weren’t worth keeping alive.”

Silence. You don’t lower the knife. But you don’t swing either.

“You’re not a killer,” you say quietly.

She smiles. “You don’t know that.”

But she hasn’t attacked you. Hasn’t lunged.Hasn’t moved.

“You threatened him,” you say.

“Yes.”

“And you knew I’d come.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re standing here instead of finishing it.”

Her jaw tightens. You step closer instead.

“You don’t want him dead,” you say. “You wanted to see if I’d choose him.”

Janet’s composure fractures for half a second.

That’s your opening.

“You’re not Ghostface,” you whisper. “You’re scared.”

The word lands. Her hand twitches.

“You shouldn’t be this perceptive,” she murmurs.

“Neither should you.”

A distant sound echoes outside — footsteps.

Voices. Nicole. Xavier. Claire.

She hears them too. Janet steps back into the shadows.

“This isn’t over,” she says quietly.

And for once, it doesn’t sound like a threat.

It sounds like a promise.

When the others burst in seconds later, you’re alone in the shed.

Knife still in your hand. Phone buzzing again.

Unknown number.

One text.

“You still got the last question wrong.”