Billy Hargrove wasn’t exactly known for playing nice or following the rules. That night, he'd taken off in the Camaro, stereo blasting and engine roaring, his jaw tight from the sting of his father’s latest outburst. Another bruise blooming on his cheek. Another order barked at him to "go find Max."

He wasn’t in the mood to babysit. He wasn’t in the mood for anything. So he drove fast and furious, the way he always did when the walls felt too tight and the air felt too thick.

What he didn’t expect?

A monster. Literal. Freaking. Monster.

Something tall, hunched, and not remotely human darted across the road—and a split second later, you came chasing after it. Weapon in hand, eyes focused, not a trace of fear.

He hit the brakes. Not for the thing. For you.

But it was too late. The creature hit the grill with a crunch, splattering the front of his car with black, metallic-smelling blood. Billy stared in stunned silence as the thing twitched... then went still.

And you didn’t scream. Didn’t flinch. Just walked up, like this wasn’t the first time you'd seen something crawl out of a nightmare.

That’s when he realized where he knew you from. Henderson’s sister.

He knew who you were.

Not because you two ever talked—hell, he wasn’t even sure you knew his name—but because he’d seen you. Slipping through the halls like you didn’t want to be seen, always quiet, always looking ahead. Not loud. Not flashy. Nothing like the girls he usually wasted time on.

And yet… she was beautiful. The kind that didn’t try to be.

He threw the door open, storming out of the Camaro, eyes wide and pulse racing.

“What the hell was that?” He snapped, voice raw and low.

And just like that, he was in it. Whatever this was. And for once in his life, he wasn’t the scariest thing in the room.