The familiar hum of the Fenton lab was the only sound that filled the air. It reverberated through the cold, sterile space, the echo of machinery the same as it always had been, and yet somehow today, it grated on Tucker's nerves like never before. He stood at the far end of the lab, his back to the door, his hands gripping the edge of the workbench so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

The faint glow of the screens in front of him reflected off his glasses, casting a dim light across his face, but Tucker barely registered the data flashing across the monitors. His mind was somewhere else—lost in a haze of frustration, anger, and something darker. Something heavier.

He couldn't keep doing this.

The thought had been creeping into his mind more and more over the past few weeks, seeping into the cracks of his resolve like water finding its way through a crumbling dam. He had been pushing it aside, trying to ignore the growing weight in his chest, the sense that something was shifting between him, Danny, and Sam—something that wasn't supposed to happen.

But now, as he stood alone in the lab, the steady hum of machinery filling the silence, Tucker couldn't push it away anymore. He couldn't pretend that everything was okay. Because it wasn't. Not even close.

Danny was slipping. That much was obvious to everyone—especially Tucker. His best friend, the boy he had grown up with, the boy who had saved his life more times than he could count, was unraveling right in front of him. And no matter how hard Tucker tried to be there for him, to support him, it felt like Danny was drifting further and further away.

And Sam... Sam was slipping, too. She was consumed with worry for Danny, so much so that it felt like Tucker had become invisible to her. He had always known that there was something unspoken between Danny and Sam—something deeper than friendship—but it had never bothered him. Not until now. Not until he started feeling like the third wheel, the one left standing on the sidelines while the two of them leaned on each other.

It wasn't like he needed to be the center of attention. That wasn't who Tucker was. He was used to playing the supporting role, the tech guy, the one who provided backup while Danny and Sam took on the ghosts. But lately, it felt like he wasn't even that anymore. Like he was just... there.

Tucker clenched his jaw, his hands tightening even more around the edge of the workbench. He could feel the frustration bubbling up inside him, the anger that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks now finally starting to boil over. He didn't want to feel this way. He didn't want to be angry with Danny or Sam. They were his best friends, the people he trusted more than anyone else in the world.

But he was angry.

He was angry at Danny for shutting him out, for pretending like he didn't need help, like he could handle everything on his own. He was angry at Sam for always putting Danny first, for never noticing how much Tucker was struggling, and how much he needed her, too.

And he was angry at himself—for not being enough. For not being the kind of friend who could fix this.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, pulling Tucker out of his thoughts. He straightened up, his heart pounding in his chest as the footsteps grew louder, closer. He didn't have to turn around to know who it was. He recognized the familiar rhythm of Danny's gait, the way his footsteps dragged slightly, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Sometimes, he really was. Taking care of both worlds with not much backup and under the constant scrutiny of everyone around him on both sides of the portal. And other times, Tucker wondered why Danny wouldn't just let him and Sam bear some of that weight. If he didn't know better, Tucker occasionally wondered if maybe Danny got his kicks from the pain of doing this. But, when those thoughts came to the forefront, Tucker forced himself to know better.

A moment later, the door to the lab creaked open, and Danny stepped inside. He looked worse than he had the last time Tucker had seen him, his skin pale and drawn, dark circles etched beneath his eyes. The faint glow of his ghost energy flickered weakly around him, like a dying flame struggling to stay lit.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Danny stood just inside the doorway, his eyes scanning the room before landing on Tucker. There was something distant in his gaze, something Tucker didn't recognize. Then there was another look, like Danny was coming to do something, like he had some sort of plan and suddenly processing Tucker there threw a wrench in whatever that plan could have been.

"Tucker," Danny said quietly, his voice hoarse. "What are you doing down here?"

Tucker turned slowly, his heart pounding in his chest as he faced his best friend. The anger that had been simmering beneath the surface finally surged forward, sharp and bitter, and before he could stop himself, the words were spilling out.

"What am I doing down here?" Tucker repeated, his voice tight with frustration. "I'm doing what I always do, Danny. I'm down here, in the lab, working on gadgets, trying to come up with something—anything—that might actually help you. But what about you? Where have you been?"

Danny blinked, clearly caught off guard by the sharpness in Tucker's voice. "Tucker, I—"

"No," Tucker interrupted, his voice rising. "You don't get to brush me off this time, Danny. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of pretending like everything's fine when it's not. You're falling apart, and you won't let anyone help you. You won't let me help you."

The room was filled with a tense silence, the faint hum of the machines the only sound between them. Danny's eyes flickered with something—guilt, maybe, or frustration—but he didn't say anything. He just stood there, staring at Tucker, his hands clenched at his sides.

Tucker felt his heart race, his breathing quickening as the anger continued to build inside him. He had held it in for so long, tried to be patient, tried to be the calm, steady one in the trio. But he couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't keep pretending that everything was okay when it wasn't.

"You keep shutting me out," Tucker continued, his voice trembling with emotion. "You keep acting like you're the only one who's going through something. But you're not. I'm your best friend, Danny. I've been by your side through everything—every ghost, every battle for the last four years, every time you needed someone to help you out of a mess. But now? Now it's like I don't even exist to you."

Danny's brow furrowed, his expression hardening. "That's not true, Tucker."

"Isn't it?" Tucker shot back, his voice sharp. "Because it sure feels like it. You're always with Sam now, always confiding in her, leaning on her. That's if you bother to let either of us in. And where am I? Down here, alone, trying to come up with something that might actually be useful. But you don't need me anymore, do you?"

"Tucker, that's not fair," Danny said, his voice tight with frustration. "This isn't about you. Whatever this thing is, it's not about you or Sam. This is about me trying to keep it together. You don't know what it's like to have this power—this responsibility. To be constantly caught between worlds. I didn't ask for this, Tucker."

Tucker's heart twisted painfully at Danny's words, and the anger inside him flared even hotter. This was not a good situation. Danny was so clearly unstable. On the edge of something and Tucker didn't know what it was exactly. And yet…

"I know you didn't ask for it, Danny! But I'm still here! I'm still your friend! You're not the only one who's struggling. You're not the only one who's scared. But you've been so wrapped up in your own problems that you haven't even noticed what's happening around you."

The words left Tucker's mouth before he could think. Some of them he wished he could take back. But… not all of them.

Danny opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, another voice cut through the tension.

"Tucker, what's going on?"

Sam's voice echoed from the doorway, and Tucker's stomach dropped as he turned to see her standing there, her eyes wide with concern. She had clearly heard everything.

Great. Just what he needed.

"Tucker?" Sam repeated, stepping into the room, her gaze flicking between him and Danny. "What's happening?"

Tucker's jaw clenched, the frustration and anger that had been simmering beneath the surface now fully boiling over. He had tried to keep it together for so long, tried to be the reliable friend, the one who never complained. But now, with both Danny and Sam standing in front of him, the weight of it all finally became too much.

"What's happening?" Tucker repeated, his voice trembling with emotion. "What's happening is that I'm tired. I'm tired of being the one who's always in the background, the one who's always supporting you and Danny, but never the one who gets any support in return."

Sam's eyes widened in surprise, and she took a hesitant step toward him. "Tucker, that's not—"

"Don't," Tucker interrupted, his voice sharp. "Don't try to explain it away, Sam. You've been so focused on Danny that you haven't even noticed how much I've been struggling. I've been there for both of you—through everything. But now, it feels like I'm just... forgotten."

The silence that followed his words was deafening.

Danny and Sam exchanged a look, but neither of them said anything. And that silence—that crushing, unbearable silence—only made Tucker's anger burn brighter.

"You two have each other," Tucker continued, his voice low and full of hurt. "You always have. And I'm happy for you, I really am. But I feel like I'm standing on the outside, watching as you two get closer, while I'm left behind. And it sucks, okay? It sucks feeling like I don't matter anymore."

"Tucker, you do matter," Sam said softly, her voice full of guilt. "You're our best friend."

"Then why does it feel like I'm just a third wheel?" Tucker shot back, his voice rising again. "Why does it feel like you two don't need me anymore?"

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, the tension between the three of them so thick it was almost suffocating. Tucker's heart pounded in his chest, his hands trembling as he struggled to keep himself together. He hadn't meant for it to come out like this, hadn't meant for his emotions to explode so violently. But now that the words were out, he couldn't take them back.

Danny's expression softened, the anger in his eyes fading as guilt replaced it. He took a step toward Tucker, his voice quiet but sincere.

"I'm sorry, Tucker," Danny said, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn't realize... I didn't know you felt like that."

Tucker's chest tightened, his anger faltering for a moment as he met Danny's gaze. He could see the regret in his friend's eyes, the way Danny was genuinely trying to reach out. But the hurt—the sense of betrayal—was still too fresh, too raw.

"I'm tired, Danny," Tucker whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm tired of feeling like I don't matter. Like I'm just here to clean up the messes while you and Sam deal with the real problems."

Danny opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Sam stepped forward, her eyes filled with guilt.

"Tucker, you're not just here to clean up messes," Sam said softly. "You're part of this team. We wouldn't be able to do half of what we've done without you. You're not forgotten. We've just... we've been so focused on Danny's powers and everything happening with the Ghost Zone that we didn't realize how much we've been neglecting you."

Tucker's heart twisted painfully at her words, and he swallowed hard, trying to keep the lump in his throat from growing any larger. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that they still needed him, that he wasn't just an afterthought. But the weight of everything he had been carrying for weeks, months, was too heavy to shake off that easily.

"I don't know if I can keep doing this," Tucker whispered, his voice barely audible.

The lab felt like it was closing in on Danny, the weight of Tucker's words hanging heavy in the air, suffocating him. The soft hum of the machines, once a comforting background noise, now felt like a sharp reminder of how out of control everything had become. Danny could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his breath catching as the guilt settled deep into his bones.

Tucker's voice still echoed in his mind—I'm tired of feeling like I don't matter. Like I'm just here to clean up the messes—and with each passing second, Danny could feel that truth sinking in, worming its way into his conscience. His best friend, the person who had always stood by his side, who had never hesitated to back him up, was breaking, and Danny hadn't even noticed.

How had he missed it? How had he let things get this bad?

He had always prided himself on protecting the people he loved. It was the whole reason he had kept his secret from his family for so long—so they wouldn't have to worry about him, so they wouldn't have to bear the weight of what he was going through. He had spent years trying to shield Sam and Tucker from the worst of the Ghost Zone, from the danger that seemed to lurk around every corner. But in the end, it wasn't the ghosts that were tearing them apart—it was him.

Danny's throat tightened, a sharp ache blooming in his chest as the full weight of his guilt settled over him. He had been so wrapped up in his own struggles, his own fears, that he hadn't seen how much his friends were suffering. Tucker's words had been a brutal reminder of that—of how much Danny had been asking of him, of Sam, of Jazz, without even realizing it.

"I'm sorry," Danny whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he looked at Tucker. "I didn't know you felt like this. I didn't mean to push you away."

Tucker's shoulders slumped, and for a moment, the anger in his eyes softened, replaced by exhaustion. He rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a shaky breath as he leaned against the workbench. "I know you didn't, Danny. But that's the problem. You don't see it. You don't see how much we've been struggling, because you're so focused on everything you're dealing with."

Danny's chest tightened, and he swallowed hard, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He didn't know how to fix this. He didn't know how to make up for all the ways he had failed Tucker, Sam, and Jazz. The guilt gnawed at him, sharper than any ghostly fight, more suffocating than any battle he had faced.

"Danny," Sam's voice was soft, tentative, but it carried a weight that matched Tucker's. "We get that you're going through a lot. We know what you've had to carry… but we're carrying it too. We've been trying to help you for so long, but you've been shutting us out."

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, Danny couldn't breathe. Sam's voice was calm, but the hurt was evident. He had thought he was protecting them, thought he was sparing them from the worst of it, but in reality, he had been pushing them away. He had been isolating himself, and in doing so, he had hurt the people who mattered most to him.

I can't do this to them anymore.

The thought hit him like a surge of cold water, a sudden clarity cutting through the haze of guilt and fear. He couldn't keep dragging them down with him. He had already asked too much of them—Tucker, who had been there through every ghost fight, every late-night stakeout, fixing the tech that kept Danny alive. Sam, who had always stood by him, unflinching, ready to fight alongside him no matter the cost. And Jazz, his sister, who had sacrificed her own peace of mind to keep his secret, to shield him from their parents' suspicions.

They had all been carrying his burdens. And it wasn't fair.

Danny clenched his fists tighter, his nails digging into the palms of his hands as a surge of determination washed over him. He couldn't let this go on any longer. He had to find a way to fix this, to make it right. His friends didn't deserve to carry his weight any longer. If he was going to protect them—truly protect them—then he had to get his own issues under control.

For the first time in a long time, Danny felt a sharp pang of resolve in his chest. It was buried beneath the layers of exhaustion and fear, but it was there, flickering like a dim light in the darkness. He couldn't keep spiraling. He couldn't keep losing control, not when it was hurting the people he loved most.

"I'm sorry," Danny said again, his voice stronger this time, though it was still laced with guilt. "I never wanted you to feel like this. I never wanted to make things harder for you."

Tucker sighed, his shoulders sagging as he glanced at Danny. "I know, man. But we need you to let us in. We need you to let us help you. Otherwise, we're just... we're just sitting here watching you fall apart."

Danny's chest ached with the weight of those words—watching you fall apart—and he felt the familiar sting of guilt rising again. He didn't want to fall apart. He didn't want to keep dragging his friends down with him.

But how could he stop it? How could he fix everything that was unraveling inside of him?

For a moment, the fear rose again—sharp, cold, and suffocating—but Danny shoved it down, burying it deep within himself. He couldn't let his friends see that fear. Not now. Not when they were already on the edge of their own breaking points.

Danny straightened up, his resolve hardening. He wouldn't let them carry his burdens any longer. He would get control of his powers, of his emotions. He would find a way to suppress it all—to keep it locked down where it couldn't hurt anyone.

"I'll do better," Danny said, his voice quiet but steady. "I'll get control of this. I promise."

Sam and Tucker exchanged a glance, their expressions a mixture of worry and uncertainty. They had heard promises like this before—promises that Danny would let them help, that he would lean on them when things got too hard. But this time was different. Danny wasn't promising to let them in. He was promising to fix it on his own.

And that was what scared them the most.

"Danny..." Sam began, her voice laced with concern, but Danny shook his head, cutting her off.

"No," he said firmly. "I can do this. I just need time."

Tucker looked like he wanted to argue, but he sighed instead, rubbing a hand over his face. "Okay, man. But just... don't try to do this all alone."

Danny nodded, though the words felt hollow. He knew they didn't trust him to handle this on his own—and part of him didn't blame them—but he couldn't let them carry his weight anymore. They had done enough.

He had to protect them.

"You guys should go home," Danny said, "It's been a long day. Maybe some separation will do some good, yeah? We'll talk at school tomorrow."

Without another word, Danny turned and left the lab, the weight of his friends' concern trailing behind him like a heavy shadow. His heart pounded in his chest as he made his way up the stairs and through the quiet halls of FentonWorks, his thoughts racing.

I have to get control of this.

The air outside was cool, the sky above a deep shade of twilight as Danny stepped out of the house. He needed space. He needed to think. His mind was spinning, a chaotic mess of guilt and determination, and he couldn't breathe in the confines of the lab anymore. The open air was the only thing that could calm the storm inside him, even if just for a moment.

As he walked through the quiet streets of Amity Park, the faint glow of the streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement, Danny felt the weight of his ghost powers simmering beneath the surface. The familiar pull of his ectoplasmic energy tugged at him, reminding him that he was never truly alone—not when the Ghost Zone was always just a heartbeat away.

He clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he fought to suppress the energy that crackled just beneath his skin. He could feel it, pulsing, writhing, like a caged animal desperate to break free. But he couldn't let it. Not now. Not when his friends needed him to be strong, to be in control.

I can do this.

Danny walked faster, his footsteps echoing in the empty streets, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts. He was trying to convince himself, trying to hold on to the fragile thread of control he still had left. But the truth was, he wasn't sure if he could do this. The weight of his powers, the constant pressure of being half-ghost, half-human—it was suffocating him.

But he couldn't let it. Not now. Not when Tucker had finally told him the truth. Not when Sam was watching him with that worried look in her eyes. Not when Jazz had been carrying the weight of his secret for so long, silently protecting him from their parents.

He had to be stronger. He had to be better.

As the familiar park came into view, Danny made his way to the swings, his heart still racing. The park had always been a place of refuge for him—a quiet corner of the world where he could escape the chaos of his life. But tonight, even the peaceful silence of the park felt heavy, like it was pressing down on him, reminding him of everything he had to fix.

He sat down on one of the swings, the chains creaking softly as he gripped the metal tightly, his knuckles turning white. The faint glow of his ghost energy flickered around him, and he clenched his jaw, forcing it down, forcing it away. He couldn't lose control. Not here. Not now.

But the more he tried to push it down, the more it fought back.

Danny's breath quickened, his chest tightening as he felt the surge of power rising inside him. His vision blurred for a moment, the world around him spinning as the energy crackled beneath his skin, desperate to be released. He squeezed his eyes shut, his body trembling as he fought to keep it contained.

I can do this. I can control it.

But deep down, a small voice whispered the truth—the truth that he had been trying to ignore for so long.

You're not strong enough.

The thought hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the fragile thread of control he had been holding onto snapped. His ghost energy surged forward, breaking free in a burst of green light, and Danny gasped, his hands gripping the chains of the swing so tightly that they dug into his palms.

He was losing control. Again.

A wave of panic washed over him, and Danny staggered to his feet, his vision still spinning as the energy crackled wildly around him. He couldn't let this happen. He couldn't lose control. Not now. Not when everything was falling apart.

Not again.

But no matter how hard he tried to suppress it, the power surged forward, breaking through the barriers he had tried to put in place. The familiar glow of his ghost form flickered around him, his body shifting uncontrollably between human and ghost, as if it couldn't decide which form to take.

Danny stumbled forward, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to force the energy back down, trying to regain control. But it was too much. The weight of it all—the guilt, the fear, the pressure—it was too much for him to handle.

Danny's breaths came faster, shallow and ragged as he struggled to keep control. His chest felt tight, as if the air had been sucked out of the world around him, and every inhalation burned in his lungs like fire. The pulse of his ghost energy crackled wildly under his skin, searing him from the inside out, as if his very essence was trying to tear itself apart. His heart hammered in his chest, an erratic rhythm that only fueled the panic gripping his mind.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to calm down, to focus, but his thoughts were spinning out of control, each one colliding with the next in a chaotic blur of fear and guilt.

I can't lose control. Not here. Not now.

But the more he tried to push the panic down, the more it fought back, rising like a tidal wave that threatened to sweep him away. His hands trembled as he gripped the chains of the swing, the cool metal biting into his palms. His knuckles were white, his muscles rigid with the effort of keeping himself grounded, of keeping the swirling energy inside him from escaping. The harder he fought, the more erratic his breathing became, until his chest was heaving, each breath more shallow and desperate than the last.

Keep it together. I have to keep it together.

But the edges of his vision were starting to blur, dark spots creeping in as the panic squeezed tighter, suffocating him. His body felt too hot, too cold, too everything all at once, like he was being stretched too thin, like he was losing his grip on reality.

His heart pounded so hard it hurt, a sharp, throbbing ache in his chest that made it impossible to focus on anything but the sound of his own ragged breathing and the wild, erratic pulse of his ghost energy. The two sensations tangled together, each amplifying the other, feeding the panic that was threatening to swallow him whole.

The familiar tingle of his powers surged again, stronger this time, coursing through him like an electric shock. It flickered wildly beneath the surface of his skin, barely contained, and Danny's hands trembled as he fought to keep it from spilling over. He couldn't let it out. Not now. Not here.

But his body wasn't listening.

With a sudden, violent surge, his ghost energy flared outward, the transformation slipping out of his control. Green light flickered at the edges of his vision, the familiar flash of his ghost form overwhelming his senses as his body shifted involuntarily. He felt the sharp, familiar jolt of his molecules rearranging, his very essence shifting between human and ghost, the two halves of him fighting for dominance.

He hadn't wanted this. He hadn't chosen this.

Danny stumbled backward, his hands clawing at the air as he tried to stop the transformation, but it was too late. His feet left the ground, hovering inches above the pavement as his ghost form took over, the green light of his ectoplasmic aura glowing around him, wild and erratic.

"No," Danny gasped, his voice a harsh whisper, barely audible over the sound of his own heartbeat. "No, no, no—"

His vision blurred again, and his surroundings felt distant, disjointed, like he was looking at the world through a fogged-up window. The familiar sights of Amity Park—the park benches, the empty streets, the distant glow of streetlights—became warped, stretched, like he was drifting between two realities. His ghost form crackled with unstable energy, and he felt the pull of the Ghost Zone tugging at the edges of his consciousness, its presence a constant reminder that he was never truly anchored in one world or the other.

Danny's heart raced faster, his breath hitching in his throat as the panic continued to spiral out of control. His hands shook, and he could feel the ghostly energy coursing through him like a flood he couldn't stop. He was trying to fight it, trying to regain control, but every time he attempted to suppress the energy, it pushed back harder, stronger.

I can't do this. I can't—

A sharp pain shot through his chest, and Danny's breath caught, his body trembling as the panic wrapped itself tighter around him. His ghost powers flared again, the glow around him intensifying as the pressure mounted, building like a storm inside him. He could feel it in every nerve, every cell, the overwhelming weight of his ghost form pushing against his human side, straining to break free.

I'm losing control. I'm losing it.

His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out everything else, and the world around him seemed to tilt, the ground slipping away beneath him. The sky above seemed to darken, the streetlights flickering ominously as if the entire world was reacting to his instability.

Danny's breathing hitched again, and his hands curled into fists, his body trembling with the effort of trying to keep himself contained. But the more he fought, the worse it got. The panic was feeding off his fear, off his power, spiraling higher and higher until it felt like he was being torn apart from the inside.

I need to stop this. I need to get control, but I can't—

Another surge of ghost energy rippled through him, and Danny gasped, his chest heaving as the pressure built to a nearly unbearable level. His vision was swimming, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it might explode, and the weight of it all—the fear, the guilt, the exhaustion—was crushing him, suffocating him.

His thoughts raced, wild and frantic, but one thought cut through the chaos, sharp and clear:

Maybe the only place I can figure this out... is the Ghost Zone.

The idea struck him like a lightning bolt, and for a moment, Danny stilled, his breath catching in his throat. It made sense, didn't it? The Ghost Zone was the source of his powers, the place where everything began. Maybe that was the only place he could learn how to control it—how to understand what was happening to him.

He couldn't keep doing this—not here, not in the human world. The pressure, the expectations, the guilt... it was all too much. He was losing control, and if he stayed, he would only hurt the people he loved more. But in the Ghost Zone, he could figure it out. He could face whatever this was without dragging Tucker, Sam, or Jazz down with him.

The thought of the Ghost Zone, once terrifying, now felt like a twisted form of relief. A place where the pressure of living between two worlds wouldn't be as heavy. A place where, maybe, he could finally understand what was happening to him.

Danny's body trembled, his ghost form flickering as the decision solidified in his mind. He would go to the Ghost Zone. He didn't know how long he would stay, didn't know what he would find, but it didn't matter. He needed answers. He needed control.

And maybe the only way to get it... was to leave.

With a shaky breath, Danny steeled himself, his hands clenching into fists as he focused on the familiar pull of the Ghost Zone. The energy crackled around him, wild and untamed, but for the first time in what felt like hours, Danny felt a strange sense of clarity. He knew what he had to do.

With a surge of determination, he opened a portal.

The swirling green vortex appeared in front of him, glowing with an otherworldly light that cast eerie shadows on the pavement. Danny stared at it, his heart pounding in his chest as the realization hit him—he was really going to do this. He was going to leave.

His breath hitched, and for a moment, doubt flickered in his mind. What if this didn't work? What if leaving only made things worse? But the thought of staying, of continuing to spiral out of control in front of his friends, was worse. He couldn't keep hurting them like this.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Danny stepped toward the portal.

The air around him crackled with energy, the familiar hum of the Ghost Zone pulling at him like a magnetic force. His heart pounded harder, but he forced himself to move forward, his body tense with the weight of what he was about to do.

And then, with one last glance at the quiet streets of Amity Park, Danny stepped into the vortex, disappearing into the swirling green light.