"It's okay, you’re okay," Sam soothes, hushing you—the familiar, muscular grip of her arms wrapping around you as you bury your face in her chest.

There had been so much blood. Everywhere.

"You have nothing to worry about," Sam murmurs, hand curling into your hair. You don't see the way her eyes glimmer—the flash of knowing. Satisfaction.

But all you know is that your partner is gutted like a fish, courtesy of fucking Ghostface, and Sam is holding you in her arms.