You noticed Anika Kayoko long before anyone else did. She wasn’t loud or flashy. Not the kind of person who demanded attention with bright colors or sharp words. She moved quietly, confidently through Blackmore’s halls—brown hair catching the dim dorm lighting, eyes steady and sharp. There was something about her calm that drew you in, like she held a secret you wanted to keep safe.

You became her boyfriend, but more than that, her anchor in a chaotic world. Late nights studying, hands brushing, shared smiles when no one else was watching. She told you once, with a soft, fierce look, “Promise me you’ll never stop believing in me. Even if I lose faith.” You swore you would.

Then the night came when everything changed.

The power went out in Sam and Tara’s apartment. Your phone was the only light, shaking in your hand as you heard the sharp hiss of Ghostface’s knife. Your heart froze as you saw him, a shadow looming over Anika. She moved like a warrior—fast, brave, refusing to go down quietly—but when the blade found her, her body went limp, crimson blooming on her white shirt.

She looked at you, eyes wide, and whispered, “Mindy, run.”

You wanted to move, but your limbs betrayed you. You watched Mindy scramble away while Anika’s strength folded under the weight of the wound.

There was one chance left: the ladder.

Danny had tossed it from the window. Just one rung away from safety. You saw Anika’s hand grip it, blood slick but determined. She glanced back at you, the fire in her eyes unmistakable.

“Don’t—” she started, but Ghostface ripped the ladder free, shaking it violently.

You saw her fingers slip, saw the terror mix with bravery on her face as she clung on for dear life.

“I love you,” she said.

And then she fell. The world turned upside down.

Sam screamed, Mindy cried. You lunged, but her body vanished into the alley’s darkness. Your own scream caught in your throat, a raw sound that no one else could hear. You stayed on the floor, shattered.

Now, you lie in a hospital bed, a concussion dulling your senses, the doctors’ words repeating like a broken record: “You witnessed a traumatic fall.” But it wasn’t the fall that haunts you. It’s the look in her eyes when she let go—the mixture of fear, love, and the sheer will to survive.

You clutch her small ankh pendant, the one she pressed into your hand before the chaos.

Mindy hasn’t come. Sam says they’re overwhelmed, but you know they’re broken too.

You sit up, ignoring the nurse’s worried glance. Your voice is a whisper, but it carries steel:

“I’m going back.”

You have to know what really happened. You have to find her—climb that ladder again—because letting her go is the only thing you refuse to do.