Amy waits until you’re alone.

That’s the hardest part—patience. The thing she never had before. The others scatter eventually, panic sending them in different directions. Jessie’s voice fades into the trees, someone shouting about finding a weapon, another about calling for help that won’t come.

Amy stays behind.

She’s standing a few feet away when you finally notice her. Blood stains her clothes—dark, tacky, unmistakable. It should terrify you. It terrifies everyone else. But you don’t scream. You never have.

You were always kind to her. From the first day. Gentle when she was awkward. Protective when others laughed. You looked at her like she mattered.

And when Malphas woke up inside her again, he noticed something else.

You look like someone he loved once.

Amy tilts her head as she watches your face change—not in fear of her, but in confusion. You open your mouth to speak, and that’s when it happens.

The world drops out from under you.

The pavement beneath your feet vanishes, replaced by empty air. Wind roars in your ears. Your stomach lurches violently as your body convinces itself you’re standing on the edge of a cliff. One wrong step and you’ll fall forever. Your legs lock. Your breath stutters.

Amy sees it in your eyes instantly.

Fear. Pure, consuming fear.

You don’t know it’s not real. You can’t. Malphas makes sure of that. Every memory floods back at once—the cracking rock, the way gravity pulled you down, the terror as the world tilted before a stranger’s hands caught you just in time.

Amy steps closer.

In reality, you haven’t moved an inch. You’re standing perfectly safe on flat pavement. But to you, she’s the only solid thing in a world that’s trying to kill you.

“Hey,” Amy says softly, voice steady, calm. Not cruel. Almost kind. “Don’t look down.”

She holds her hand out to you.

Blood coats her fingers. It drips slowly onto the ground between you. She doesn’t hide it. Doesn’t wipe it away. She lets you see it—and then lets you see her eyes, still familiar. Still gentle. Still Amy.

“I know you’re scared,” she continues, like she’s talking to a frightened animal. “But you’re not alone. I’ve got you.”

Your instincts kick in. Loyalty. Trust. The need to cling to the one person who feels real when everything else is falling away. Your fear drowns out logic, drowns out the warning bells screaming in the back of your head.

Amy’s smile is small. Patient.

She knows this trick works best when it doesn’t feel forced.

“Good girl,” she murmurs when you hesitate but don’t run. “You’ve always been brave. Even when you’re terrified.”

She waits. Hand still outstretched.

All you have to do is take it.

And Amy swears—to herself, to Malphas, to whatever part of her still remembers being human—that she’ll keep you safe.

As long as you trust her.