They brought cupcakes.
Of course they did.
Somehow, someone decided that the best way to commemorate the brutal death of a suspected serial killer was with funfetti.
The Deadfast Club sat around their usual corner table at Café Weaver, sipping overpriced lattes and poking at pastries like they'd actually earned the right to relax. Sunlight filtered through the windows too brightly, like the world had forgotten someone had died screaming in an alleyway.
Beth didn't touch her drink.
"Ghostface is dead," Liv said, holding a sprinkle-covered cupcake like a trophy. "That's gotta be, like, good news, right?"
Amir nodded too quickly. "I mean… yeah. Right? We were freaking out. People were dying. Now it's over."
Deion didn't look convinced, but he shrugged. "Cops said the guy in the mask was the one behind the killings. The ones from last semester too. Said he 'fit the profile.'"
Kym, ever the realist, leaned back with her arms crossed. "Yeah, because the cops are always right."
Beth's lips curled. She didn't smile. Just showed teeth.
"Sure," she said. "Let's all just eat cake and pretend the big bad's gone."
Manny snorted. "Aren't you supposed to be the goth one? This should be your aesthetic. Death, cupcakes, closure."
Beth flicked a sprinkle off the table. It landed on the floor like confetti at a funeral.
Closure.
Cute.
Jamal was rotting in a morgue right now, and they were quoting TikToks and double-tapping justice. No one knew the truth. That he was the killer. That she was, too. That they were better than the rest of these scared, stumbling victims—curating chaos like it was goddamn art.
And someone had stolen that from her.
Someone had taken him from her.
Not the cops. Not karma. A killer.
Beth could feel it, deep in her marrow, that primal little buzz behind her ribs that only stirred when something was off.
The body had been too mangled. The scene too staged.
Someone hadn't just killed Jamal.
They'd performed it.
She looked around the table. These people weren't capable of that kind of brutality. They were punchlines, each and every one. Cute little character tropes waiting to die in Act Two. Except now they thought the credits had rolled.
Beth glanced across the café, eyes narrowing slightly.
The new guy was there again.
Brandon.
Art kid. Quiet. Always sketching something. Looked like the kind of guy who'd play piano in a graveyard or write poetry about the void. She knew the type. Too cliché to be scary.
He sat alone, earbuds in, sketchbook open, pencil dancing across the page with lazy precision. He hadn't touched his coffee.
She studied him, briefly.
Too obvious.
Too quiet.
She'd seen too many horror movies to fall for that setup. He was the red herring. The brooding loner who looked like a killer so nobody would notice the real one. And that meant he was just another background character, destined to bleed out in a third-act jump scare.
Still.
He'd been in her class last semester. Sat two rows behind her. Always showed up early, always left last.
She didn't remember him.
And that annoyed her.
Beth turned back to her cupcake. Still untouched. The icing was starting to melt under the heat of her palm.
"You okay?" Kym asked, voice soft. Real.
Beth looked up, surprised.
Kym wasn't dumb. She noticed things. Too many things.
"Yeah," Beth said flatly. "Peachy."
Kym didn't press, but her eyes lingered a beat too long.
Beth stood. "I need air."
She left the café, the bell above the door jingling like a bad punchline.
Outside, she lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. She didn't even like the taste anymore. She just needed something to do.
The alley next to the café looked too much like the one where Jamal died.
She stared into the shadowed gap between buildings and imagined him there again. Mask cracked. Mouth full of blood. Eyes wide and empty.
The rage came in waves now. Less like fire, more like cold pressure building behind her eyes.
She would find them.
Whoever killed him.
And when she did?
There'd be no mask.
No games.
Just blood.
Beth blew smoke into the sky, and for the first time in days, she smiled.
Not a real one.
A promise.