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Sienna nods, looking just as grim as I feel.

Apparently, I get to be both a murder suspect and a potential victim. Lucky fucking me.

This can’t be happening. This can not be happening.

I write horror stories for a living. Becoming the main character in one was never part of the job description.

“Do you get it now?” she asks, apparently satisfied that her words have finally sunk in.

“Yeah. I get it now. Every horror story needs a final girl. I’m just not thrilled at the idea that it could be me.”

“Welcome to the land of rational fear, Max. Glad you could finally join me. I was getting pretty fucking lonely over here.”

Before I can add anything to her statement, a sharp screech from the microphone cuts through the murmuring crowd.

“Good evening, everyone,” Peyton announces from the small podium positioned beside the memorial. “Thank you all for joining us tonight.”

The conversations around us slowly die down as everyone turns their attention to her.

“Ten years ago, our beloved town suffered an unimaginable tragedy. Five of Fairhope High School’s most promising students lost their lives in a devastating fire at the Crowley Paper Mill. Five young people whose futures were stolen from them before they’d even had the chance to begin,” Peyton says, her voice wavering slightly.

I have to give her credit. The woman certainly knows how to put on a performance.

“For those of us who knew them, grew up alongside them, shared classrooms, friendships, and dreams with them, that night changed everything. It left a wound in this community that time has never truly healed.”

She pauses, looking toward the large slab of polished black granite sitting in the middle of the manicured lawn. Five names are engraved on its polished surface. Five dates of birth. One date of death.

Fresh flower arrangements sit at its base, alongside framed photographs, handwritten notes, and dozens of flickering candles.

I don’t look at the names. I don’t need to.

I’ll live with the reminder of what happened that night every time I look at myself in the mirror. Every time my disfigured fingers brush against the scars on my cheek and neck. Every time I remember the heat, the smoke, and the screams that have haunted me for the past decade.

I don’t need a fucking monument to remind me of any of it.

“Tonight, we gather not only to honor the lives we lost ten years ago,” Peyton continues, “but also to remember those who have been taken from us during what should have been a joyous week of celebration.”

A ripple of murmurs moves through the crowd.

“This reunion was supposed to bring us together. It was supposed to be a chance to reconnect with old friends, celebrate how far we’ve come, and remember the wonderful years we spent growing up in this town. Instead, we’ve been forced to endure yet another heartbreaking tragedy. One that has claimed the lives of people who were deeply loved by this community.”

I glance at Sienna, who looks about as impressed with Peyton’s speech as I am.

“Jordan Richfield. Sydney Pinkham. Brooke Trask. Amber Cyr. Delaney Merrill. And Misty Galloway.” Peyton pauses between each name, allowing the weight of them to settle over the crowd. “Six beautiful souls taken from us far too soon. Six women who deserved so much more than the terrible fate that befell them.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

I tighten my grip around the plastic candle, wondering if I’m the only person here who remembers what those six beautiful souls were like when they were alive.

“Some of them weren’t just friends to me,” Peyton continues, pressing a hand against her chest. “They were sisters. People I grew up with, laughed with, cried with. Women who stood beside me through some of the happiest and darkest moments of my life. And now they’re gone.”

Her voice cracks on the last word, and several people in the crowd lower their heads.

I watch her carefully, searching for some sign of genuine grief beneath that perfectly composed exterior. But all I see is the same woman who confronted me earlier today, threatening to drag me to hell with her.

“And although their names are not added to this memorial, I believe they deserve to be remembered alongside those we lost years ago. Because every life lost is a tragedy, and every one of them deserves to be honored.”

She pauses, allowing her gaze to sweep across the crowd.