The firelight crowns her in orange and gold.
She looks feral. Unbreakable. Terrifying in the best way.
For a heartbeat, even the monsters hesitate.
Drew’s pumpkin lowers the axe a fraction.
I don’t know what Val plans to do next, but I know this with bone-deep certainty.
She didn’t come to save me quietly.
She came to end this.
TWENTY-ONE
NEGOTIATIONS?
VAL
Okay.Breathe.
You are not negotiating with a mutated, homicidal pumpkin monster currently perched on Drew’s decapitated body like it won a county fair ribbon.
You are a badass.
You are a final girl.
You got this.
. . . Maybe.
I tilt my head and smile anyway. Not a friendly smile. Not even a sane one. This is the smile you get when terror burns itself out and leaves something sharper behind. Fury. Relief. The feral thrill of realizing you are still upright when you absolutely should not be.
Also, nobody messes with crazy. That’s just a fact.
Drew’s pumpkin monster waits across the field, framed by fire. Vines stretch from its body and sink into the dirt. Its carved grin gleams bright in the light.
Gasoline slicks the earth between us, soaking into the soil, glimmering like a promise. The propane torch roars in my grip, heat biting through the handle, stinging my knuckles until pain becomes background noise.
Behind me, the corn crackles as it burns. Drew’s pumpkin watches. It doesn’t rush. It doesn’t need to.
Because Shaun is still on the ground.
Pinned. Bleeding. Wrapped in vines that flex and tighten every time the thing shifts its weight.
But alive.
That last part matters more than anything else in the world.
“I’m guessing you can understand me, asshole,” I say, pitching my voice over the crackle of burning corn and the low roar of the torch.
Drew’s pumpkin is frozen with the axe poised over Shaun, but it nods slightly, confirming my suspicions.
Good.
My body shakes from the adrenaline, but I keep my tone even. Calm is a weapon. “You’re not stupid. You learned how to walk. You learned how to hunt.” I gesture with the torch toward the bodies they’re attached to.
The grin doesn’t change. Seeds cling to the carved mouth, glossy and swollen. One drops and hits the dirt with a plop.
