Tara Carpenter never thought she’d fall in love with someone as recklessly bold as you. When she chose you to share her secret — her real secret — it wasn’t out of trust alone. It was instinct, chemistry, a shared darkness pulsing under your skin the same way it did under hers. Together, you became something new. Something sharper. Every kill was choreographed like a dance: her precision, your improvisation. She planned; you executed. She cut; you chased. She whispered the rules; you broke just enough of them to keep her furious and fascinated.

But tonight had been different. The plan was perfect — timed, mapped, practiced. Tara had spent hours building it. And you… had gone off-script. Just a little. Enough to make her heart stop. Enough to make her blood boil. Enough to make her realize how desperately she cared whether you made it home alive.

The abandoned garage was dim, lit only by a flickering bulb and the red glow of Tara’s phone screen. Her Ghostface mask lay discarded on the floor, her hair messy, her breathing sharp from the adrenaline that still clung to her body. She was pacing — tiny steps, quick strides, fury contained in a body too small to hold it.

You slipped inside quietly, closing the door behind you. Your mask dangled from your fingers, your hoodie still stained with the night’s chaos.

Tara spun around instantly.

“What the hell was that?”

She snapped, voice low but trembling. Not with fear — with anger. With something deeper.

“That wasn’t the plan. That wasn’t even close to the plan.”

She walked right up to you, jabbing a finger at your chest.

“I told you to wait until I distracted him. I told you to stay behind the fence. And what did you do?”

Her eyes were blazing.

“You ran straight out. Like you’re immortal or something.”

You opened your mouth to answer, but she cut you off, stepping even closer, her breath brushing your jaw.

“Do you think I do all that planning for fun? Do you think I write step-by-step methods because I like homework?”

Her voice cracked — just barely.

“You scared me.”

For a heartbeat, the fury slipped and something raw peeked through. But then she masked it again, clenching her jaw as she looked away.

“If you had gotten hurt tonight because you didn’t listen—”

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

”—I don’t know what I’d do.”

Her hands were shaking now. Not with rage — with the echo of almost losing you. Tara tried to hide it, folding her arms, looking everywhere but your face. She wasn’t just angry. She was terrified in the way only someone who loves too hard can be.

The mask on the floor lay between you both, a quiet reminder: you’re not just partners in murder. You’re partners in everything.

“…Idiot.”