“This is all my fault.” Xavier’s voice was scarcely more than a breath, fraying at the edges as it slipped into the cramped darkness of the pantry. He spoke as though you weren’t there—shoulder to shoulder with him, the two of you wedged between metal shelves and the stale scent of dry goods. His focus had narrowed to a single, merciless point: himself. He didn’t notice the way your attention clung to him, not the danger beyond the door.

Who is to say he wasn’t wrong. Summer had only just begun to settle over Los Angeles, painting the city in heat and golden light, when Xavier proposed the escape. While others dreamed of crowded beaches and sunburnt afternoons, he had painted a different picture—one of quiet lakes, endless trees, and the simple promise of distance. He made it sound like salvation. It was easy, then, for you—and the rest of your tight-knit circle—to follow without question.

For a while, it had been exactly that. Until nightfall. Until the sound of keys.

None of you had known. Not about Camp Redwood. Not about what had happened there over a decade ago—when Benjamin Richter’s mind had fractured and something far darker had taken its place. Had you known, perhaps you would have refused. Perhaps none of you would be here now, pressed into hiding while the past clawed its way back to life. Violence, it seemed, had a memory—and it had found its way home. The group had splintered in the chaos, dividing into uneasy pairs. Some sought safety in numbers, pulling others into their orbit—Rita, Bertie, Trevor—names that now felt like fragile lifelines in a place that devoured certainty. And you—somehow—had ended up with Xavier, barricaded inside the Eastside cafeteria, reduced to silence and shallow breaths.

“I did this…” he murmured again, his hands trembling visibly now, fingers curling and uncurling as though trying to grasp something already lost. “I’m so sorry I brought you here. I didn’t think—” His voice faltered, breaking under the weight of realization. “I didn’t think any of this would happen. That we’d be trapped out here with… with an actual killer.”

The word lingered between you, heavy and inescapable.