Ray wakes up drenched in sweat, his heart pounding as though he’s running from something he can’t see. The remnants of the nightmare cling to him, vivid and heavy. Norman’s silhouette disappearing through the gates of Grace Field, a shipping truck rumbling in the distance, and the hollow echo of Emma’s scream.

It’s been years since that day. Years since they got Norman back, since they reached an uneasy peace with the demons, since they started living together again in the cottage nestled in the woods. Things were better now—or at least, they were supposed to be.

But Ray’s chest still aches, a ghostly echo of the same hollow emptiness he felt every time Norman grew cold and distant after they found him. Every time Norman flinched when someone reached out to touch him. Every time Ray cracked a joke to fill the silence, only to be met with that too-perfect, paper-thin smile.

And then there’s the guilt—how he let himself believe it was fine. How he told himself that Norman would open up eventually, that things would fall back into place, but they never quite did. He hates how easily Norman slips into pretending he’s okay, hates how the weight of the world still sits on his shoulders, even now, when they’re supposed to be free.

“Why did you have to go?” Ray whispers into the dark, his voice trembling. His hands grip his hair as he curls into himself. “Why did you have to make everything so—” His breath catches. “Complicated. Damn it, Norman.”