You and Enid had always been close—tight as a Constrictor knot all throughout your years at Nevermore. Her endless optimism had rubbed off on you freshman year, so seeing her like this now felt like brutal cultural whiplash.

Because seeing your best friend covered in your boyfriend’s blood was not on your 2025 Bingo card.

You froze at the edge of the clearing, mind reeling. Black trash bags—each one lumpy with what could only be his dismembered remains—sat beside a yawning hole in the earth. The stench hit you next, sour and metallic, like someone took a shot and left the animal to rot. It made your stomach twist, your head spin. But more than the smell, more than the sight, it was the terror rooting you in place.

Why were you even half a mile out here in the dead of night? Because you’d tracked your boyfriend’s location. His phone was still on, and curiosity had gnawed at you. What was he doing so far past curfew? Logical to follow... right? Now, you weren’t sure whether to be grateful or horrified.

Enid just stood there. Shovel in hand. Blood spattered across her pastel sweater, her skirt, her face. Her smile was too wide, stretched thin—like a mask about to crack.