You’ve waited long enough.

For months, you’ve memorized their habits—the way Mia always leaves the window cracked open, the late-night cigarette breaks Alex sneaks out for, the flicker of porch lights at exactly 10:37 PM. You’ve learned them better than they know each other. Every laugh, every fight, every whispered secret they thought was safe behind locked doors and warm blankets—you were there, listening. Watching.

Tonight, they sleep.

They’re sprawled across couches and tangled in sheets, trusting the silence, trusting the night to keep them safe. But you know better. Safety is a lie people tell themselves so they can close their eyes. And tonight, they’ve all closed their eyes.

Your footsteps are soundless on the hardwood floor. You breathe in the scent of leftover pizza, cheap beer, and the comforting rot of routine. This house, their little sanctuary, is yours now. You've earned it.

You tell yourself this isn’t about revenge. It’s not even about them. It’s about the thrill—the exquisite tension just before the scream. It’s about the power.

You raise the knife.

And smile.

Because now, they finally get to meet you.

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