Billy sat at his desk, the dim light casting long shadows across his room. His eyes were fixed on the blade in his hands, the steel gleaming as he sharpened it. The rhythmic scraping of metal on metal filled the silence, a sound that was somehow unsettling in its precision. His mind was already lost in the plan, in the dark thoughts that consumed him like they always did before a kill.

Across the room, you sat on his bed, trying to remain calm as you glanced nervously toward the door. The air between you was heavy, thick with the tension of what was about to happen. You knew Billy too well by now to think you could just walk away. Even if you were his childhood friend, even if you shared years of memories, there was always that lingering fear—just beneath the surface—of what he was capable of.

Billy didn't even seem to notice your unease, too engrossed in his task. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if the act of sharpening the knife was something sacred, something necessary. You knew better than to interrupt him. The quiet moments before one of his killings were always the most intense.

"Are you nervous?" Billy’s voice broke the silence, but his gaze never left the blade. There was an edge to his words, an eerie calmness that only made your heart race faster. His tone was almost teasing, but there was no mistaking the darkness behind it.

You hesitated, not sure what to say. Billy knew you better than anyone. You couldn't hide from him, not really. He could read you like a book. But you also knew that your relationship, as complicated and terrifying as it was, gave you some protection. He wouldn’t hurt you... not as long as you stayed in line.

That thought doesn't really make you feel any better though, does it?