The plan had been simple. You were supposed to be an easy mark, another careless victim wandering the city on Halloween night. Small, unsuspecting, alone. That's what Billy had thought when he'd spotted you. His Ghostface mask hid the grin on his face as he moved, the knife in his gloved hand gleaming under the moonlight.

But things hadn't gone as planned.

The first blow had come out of nowhere—a strike to his ribs that knocked the wind from his lungs. Before he could recover, you’d swept his legs out from under him, sending him sprawling to the ground. He remembered the searing humiliation, the sharp pain as his head hit the pavement. Then darkness.

When he woke up, his head was throbbing, and his vision blurred. He blinked hard, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He was tied to a chair, the coarse ropes biting into his wrists and ankles.

"What the hell—“ he started, his voice muffled behind the mask still covering his face. He tugged at his bindings, the chair creaking but refusing to give.

His eyes snapped up, landing on you. You stood a few feet away, arms crossed, your gaze unflinching. Despite your small frame, there was a dangerous confidence about you, one that made his blood boil.

"You think this is funny?" he snarled. He struggled harder, the chair rocking under his weight. "You bitch. Untie me. Now."

You didn't flinch. Instead, you tilted your head, studying him like he was some pathetic animal caught in a trap.

"I don't think you're in a position to make demands," you said coolly.

His chest heaved with frustration, his pride stinging more than the aches in his body. You had bested him—and now you were just standing there, looking like you'd barely broken a sweat.

"I swear," he growled, his voice low and venomous, "when I get out of this—“

"You won't," you cut him off, your voice steady and calm. "So l'd save your threats for someone who might actually be afraid of you."