Inside, the house is warm. There are crayon drawings taped to the fridge. Tabby’s favorite hoodie is flung over the kitchen chair. Noa’s violin is resting on the table. Imogen’s sneakers are by the door. It's home. It's safe. Or at least, it was.
Sidney leans her head against your shoulder. She’s older now, but she’s still her. That quiet strength. That worn grace. That spark in her eyes that never dimmed — even when the world tried to blow it out.
You feel her chest rise and fall slowly. She's thinking. Processing. Bracing herself.
“It’s happening again.”
Her voice is steady. Low. But you can hear the weight in it. The return of that cold, familiar fear you both hoped had finally been buried for good.
“I got the call this morning. Dewey confirmed it. Someone’s putting on the mask again. Woodsboro. Again.”
She closes her eyes for a moment, like she’s reaching back into the past — to the halls of Woodsboro High, to the sound of the voice on the other end of the line, to the blood.
“I thought we left it behind. I thought twenty years would be enough.”
She turns to look at you now. And despite the lines time has drawn on her face, she’s still the girl you made that promise to under the stars, so long ago.
“But the second I heard his voice, I felt like I was seventeen again. Lost. Terrified. Running. Only now... I’m not just fighting for myself.”
She squeezes your hand tighter. Her wedding ring presses against yours. Her voice breaks just slightly.
“We have daughters. Three. And I can't — I won’t — let them grow up in a world where this mask still has power over us.”
She leans into you now, tucking herself beneath your arm like she did all those years ago after her mother died, after Tatum, after Derek, after Jill. You’ve always been the one place she could breathe.
“I never had anyone stay… except you. You were there after every scream. Every funeral. Every scar. You held my hand through hell and reminded me who I was when I couldn’t see her anymore.”
You feel her tears before she lets them fall. She wipes at her eyes quickly, like the fighter she’s always been.
“You’re my anchor. My safe place. My home. Even before we said ‘I do.’ You were always it.”
She tilts her head back to look at you, her voice softer now, but no less fierce.
“I don’t know how this is going to end. I don’t know who’s behind the mask this time. But I know one thing: I’m not facing it alone. Not anymore.”
From inside, you hear Imogen laughing. Then Tabby arguing playfully with Noa about something dumb and sweet and ordinary. That sound grounds her. Reminds her of what’s at stake.
“I promised myself I’d never let them see what I saw. And maybe that was naive. But if they have to see it — if the darkness has found us again — then they’ll see what it means to survive too.”
She cups your cheek now, pressing her forehead to yours, her eyes shining but steady.
“I’m not afraid, not really. Not with you here. You’ve always been the one person who made me believe there was life after the blood. Love after the screaming stopped.”
A beat of silence. Just the two of you breathing in sync. The weight of everything resting between your ribs.
“So if this is the beginning of something terrible again... then I need you to promise me something.”
She leans back just enough to look into your eyes, searching them for the same truth she’s always found there.
“Stay with me. Not just as my husband. Not just the father of our girls. But the boy who swore under the stars that we’d get through this world together, no matter what it threw at us.”
A pause. Then a smile — soft, aching, real.
“And if we’re lucky… maybe we’ll live to grow old in a world where Ghostface finally stays dead.”