Harvey wakes to heat and fire crackling, his vision blurry as he glances around, confused to find himself in the barn outside that's ablaze with flames. The last thing he remembers is losing sight of Donna inside. But he sure as shit isn't in the mansion anymore—his bound wrists starting to roast behind him.

"Donna?!" he calls out, choking on thick plumes of smoke as her red hair enters his vision, framed by bright orange sparks. She's on her knees, her free hands pressed against her thighs, and his heart skips when she does nothing.

She can't be the killer.

She can't be.

"What the hell are you waiting for? Untie me!" he barks.

An eternity unfolds, and then another, and several more, before she finally moves with an anguished cry, struggling but managing to set him free.

She isn't the killer.

She's bait, his own goddamn ruin.

At the end of a short chain, her ankle is snared between two steel trap jaws, and he knows even before his fingers latch around the device that he can't save her.

"Harvey, just go!"

"No!" he screams.

It will take a miracle for them both to survive, and he isn't a man of faith, but if there's anyone he has faith in, it's Donna.

A section of the barn explodes, singeing his face and clothes but delivering, well, a miracle. Rattling to a stop is a rusty saw, and he grabs it.

"Don't you dare, Harvey!" she pants. "They don't make… Manolos for ankles."

"Lucky I like you in heels." Rather than dramatically sawing off her foot, he uses the handle to pry open the jaws, gagging as blood jettisons in spurts all over his sweater. "Dammit, Donna! This is pure cashmere!"

His quip is met by silence, and realizing she's passed out, he rips off the jumper and uses it as a tourniquet, hauling her up into his arms.

…

Mike and Rachel reach the edge of the clearing just in time to see Harvey carrying Donna bridal style across the grass before Harvey's knees give way and both their friends tumble unceremoniously to the ground. They race forward, and Mike tries not to roll his eyes when the first thing Harvey does is snap sarcastically.

"So, that whole circling back with the element of surprise… How's that working out?"

"It's hard to play the final girl when the woods are booby-trapped, and you and Donna are trying to turn yourselves into shish kebabs," he quips.

Harvey reaches for Donna as Rachel helps her sit up, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "So, we all made it." He glances at Mike. "You know what that means?"

"Shit." Mike scrubs a hand across his face. "Final act."

"Shiiiiiiit." Katerina laughs as she emerges, swinging a gun in her hand. "I know, I know. I should let you all flounder around for a little while longer. But I'm ready to start making my own rules. Youngest managing partner in NYC, has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Mike's eyes bulge at the brutal betrayal unfolding. "No. We saw you die."

"You saw a clever dose of a nerve agent and atropine." Brian answers as he joins them, throwing aside the tin of gasoline he just poured on the barn fire to keep it burning. "I majored in chemistry before I switched to law."

"Why?" Rachel asks, hopeless tears coating her lashes.

"Revenge, greed… who the fuck cares?" Harvey snorts. "You two just signed your own death warrant."

"Why? Because of your stupid horror movie rules?" Katrina snickers, cocky as Brian wraps his arm around her waist. "We're adapting to our environment. That's what great lawyers do."

Harvey squeezes Donna's shoulders, smirking at Mike. "Are you going to tell them, or should I?"

"Tell us what?" Brian snaps.

A shadow clues Mike in to Harvey's plan, and he takes a breath, laying out the rule. "If there are two killers, one always turns on the other. Personally, my money's on Katrina."

"That's bull—"

Two arrows fire, both lodging right through Katrina and Brian's chests, and as the gun falls, Samantha picks it up, adding in several rounds for good measure.

Then bleeding and faint, she sinks to her knees, tossing the weapon to the side as her friends rush to help her.

Rule #1: Never trust the rules.