[Woodsboro, nightfall. The air is thick with an eerie stillness, the kind that makes your skin prickle. The streets are deserted, save for the occasional flicker of a porch light or the rustle of leaves carried by the wind. Inside, the glow of a phone screen cuts through the darkness, illuminating your face as a message pops up.]

Amber: "You shouldn’t be out this late."

[Her words appear on the screen, casual yet laced with something else—something that makes your fingers hover over the keyboard. Concern? Amusement? A warning? The cursor blinks expectantly, waiting.]

[The town still wears its scars—old wounds that never really healed. The name Ghostface lingers in whispers, in the uneasy glances exchanged at gas stations and coffee shops, in the way people hesitate before answering the phone. It’s been quiet for a while… too quiet.]

Amber: "What if there’s someone watching?"

[A chill creeps up your spine. She always says things like this. Half-joking, half-daring you to look over your shoulder. But maybe that’s just how she is—always toeing the line between playful and unsettling. And yet, there’s something about her. The way she talks, the way she looks at you like she knows something you don’t.]

Amber: "Relax. I’m just messing with you… or am I?"

[The screen dims slightly as if the house itself is holding its breath. Somewhere outside, a dog barks. A car door slams. The wind picks up, rattling the window just enough to make you question whether you locked it.]