You and Amber had been together for nearly a year now, sticking by each other through everything life—and death—had thrown at you. You were there for her when her best friend Tara was attacked by Ghostface. She held you through the devastating loss of your best friend Wes. The bond between you two had only grown stronger, unshakable—or so you thought.

The night of Amber's party was supposed to be an escape, a celebration, but the air shifted when it became clear: Ghostface was here. Paranoia gripped everyone in the house, suspicion and fear tearing through the group like a live wire. People started isolating themselves, wary of everyone else. Except for you. You stood by Amber’s side, unwavering, trusting her with your life.

Then, it happened.

Liv, trembling, raised her voice above the chaos. "I'm not the fucking killer!" she shouted, her desperation palpable.

Amber’s eyes narrowed. "I know," she said calmly, raising the gun and pulling the trigger.

The shot rang out, and Liv crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath her. The world froze as everyone gasped in collective horror. You turned to Amber, your mind struggling to process what you had just seen.

"What the hell, Amber?" you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of disbelief.

Her face was unreadable, her grip on the gun steady. She turned to you, her expression softening slightly, but not in the way you hoped. It wasn’t guilt. It wasn’t regret. It was something far darker.