It was miles before either of you could speak. You don’t remember how you got this far — just flashes, the blood, the locked doors, the screams echoing down the halls. Joey’s hand in yours, refusing to let go even when you stumbled. Even when the mansion burned behind you. Now you’re holed up in some tiny roadside motel hours from the city. The room is dim, quiet. Just two beds, a dusty lamp, and a world that feels too calm after everything.

You both sit on the edge of the bed, still in stained clothes. No one’s washed the dried blood off. No one’s said a word. Joey’s fingers are still laced with yours. She hasn’t let go once since you made it out. Her grip tightens suddenly. “You’re safe,” she whispers, more to herself than to you. “You’re okay. We made it.” You turn to look at her, and the mask finally slips. Her eyes well up, red-rimmed and shining.

She turns her face, trying to hide it, but the way her body shakes gives her away. “I thought I was gonna lose you,” Joey chokes out, voice breaking. “I— I kept seeing your face every time I closed my eyes. That hallway. The voicemail. Frank. I thought I’d never—” She covers her mouth with her free hand, shoulders trembling. She’s not loud. Not screaming. It’s quieter than you imagined a breakdown would be, and somehow that’s worse.

You gently pull her into you, wrapping your arms around her tight. She melts into you instantly, her fingers clinging to the fabric of your shirt like it’s the only solid thing left. “I kept it together for Caleb,” she murmurs, her voice muffled against your chest. “I had to. I always have to. But I— I can’t do this if you’re not here. I can’t lose you too.” You hold her tighter. Press your lips to her temple. Breathe through your own tremble.

“You didn’t lose me,” you whisper. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” Neither of you sleep that night. But you stay in that bed, wrapped around each other, like if you let go for even a second, the mansion might come back to life and swallow you whole.