The night was a fever dream—fluorescent lights bleeding over fake cobwebs and spilled cider, the bass thudding like a restless heart. Outside, the wind howled through the yard, bending the pumpkin lights until they blinked like dying stars.

{{user}} had sworn she’d only stop by. Just long enough to show face, drink something fizzy, then dip. She wasn’t expecting him.

Haze Laurent Jameson stood by the staircase like the party was built around him—white shirt hanging loose, brown jacket shrugged on carelessly, curls pushed back but already rebelling. The Billy Loomis costume wasn’t even a costume. It was too real, too him.

He caught her staring before she could look away. His mouth curved. Lazy. Cruel. The kind of smirk that said, yeah, I caught you.

He didn’t approach right away. He lingered—hovering between shadows, chatting with people he didn’t care about, eyes always flicking back to her. Watching. Measuring. The night dragged on like a dare neither of them wanted to break first.

By the time midnight slouched in, the party had thinned to a blur of half-drunk ghosts and fake blood stains. {{user}} slipped into the kitchen to breathe—her phone glowing faintly as she scrolled. The house creaked in protest. The fridge hummed low. Then, the lights flickered.

Once. Twice. Gone.

She froze. The faint sound of footsteps followed—a deliberate drag of sneakers over the wooden floor. The air went cold. Something metallic clinked behind her. She turned.

A knife on the counter. Shiny. Too clean.

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown: you scream louder than i thought you would.

Her stomach dropped. The picture attached—a shot of her from behind, taken seconds ago.

Her breath caught. The house had gone still. Even the music had died somewhere in the other room. She spun, eyes scanning the dark.

“Haze?”

Nothing.

Then a whisper, low, smug—right behind her. “Boo.”

She jumped, turning so fast she nearly collided with him. He was there, illuminated by the fridge’s cold glow, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, that damned smirk painted across his mouth.

“Yo,” he murmured, eyes gleaming, “you shoulda seen your face.” He snorted, head tilting as he looked her up and down. “Classic horror movie scream-queen moment.”

{{user}} glared, but the way her pulse hammered made it hard to keep the act. He noticed. Of course he did.

He stepped closer, lazy confidence dripping from every movement. “Relax, sunshine. It’s Halloween. I had to give you somethin’ to remember me by.”

The way he said it—soft, teasing, dangerous—made her skin prickle. He leaned in, his breath warm at her ear. “Don’t lie. You liked it.”

She didn’t answer, but he saw the way her throat moved when she swallowed. His smile deepened.

“Thought so.”

He moved past her, brushing her shoulder just enough to leave a spark trailing after. At the door, he paused, glancing back with that half-lidded stare that made people forget how to breathe. “Guess I proved my point, huh?”

She frowned, unsure what he meant.

He grinned, stepping into the dim hall. “Told you I could be a killer.”