DENIAL

Gwen moved mechanically through her days, trapped in a cycle she couldn't seem to escape. She had moved out to live alone– she decided that she was better off alone, isolated and confiscated in her own fortitude. Her room had become her sanctuary—and her prison. The walls were littered with arcane symbols drawn in chalk, the scent of burnt incense and old parchment thick in the air. Where once she might have basked in the sunlight pouring through her window, now she kept the curtains tightly shut. Darkness suited her better. It helped her focus.

Gwen stood at her desk, staring down at the spellbook, her fingers tracing the edge of the worn pages. She had read the passage over and over again for months. The book had become her closest companion. Its presence was constant, always humming softly with power, always whispering promises of success. At first, she had resisted its voice, wary of the temptation it held. But now, she was drowning in it, sinking deeper and deeper into the depths of its twisted knowledge.

The blood she'd offered before—her own—had only gotten her so far. But now the book demanded more. Sacrifice, it whispered. Something living. Something with a heart that beats, blood that flows.

At first, the thought repulsed her. She wasn't that far gone. Not yet. But with every failed attempt, with every ritual that didn't work, her frustration grew. The promise of bringing Grandpa Max back felt so close, yet always just out of reach. The book was relentless, whispering to her in the quiet of the night, in her dreams. There was a price for everything, it told her. A balance. The power needed to be fed, and her blood alone was no longer enough.

She stood in the dead of night, the soft glow of candlelight flickering against the dark walls of her room. In the corner, a cage rattled slightly. Inside, a bat flapped its wings, disturbed by the oppressive energy that filled the room. Gwen had found it the other night, caught in the attic. It was small, insignificant. She tried to tell herself it didn't matter, that it was just a creature, one of hundreds in the wild.

But as she reached for it, pulling the cage closer, something inside her twisted.

She opened the cage with a trembling hand, lifting the bat gently. It squeaked in panic, its small body shaking. Gwen hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. But she pushed the feeling down, deep into the recesses of her mind. She had to. This was necessary. The book had made that clear.

Without a word, she held the bat in one hand, raising a silver blade in the other. The candlelight flickered again, casting eerie shadows across her face. With one swift motion, she brought the blade down.

The creature's life was snuffed out in an instant.

The blood ran freely over her hands, warm and sticky. Gwen closed her eyes, breathing in deeply as she felt the magic swell around her. It was stronger now, more potent. It responded to the sacrifice. She could feel the energy hum in the air, crackling against her skin. The book glowed faintly, as though pleased.

She set the lifeless bat aside, her expression blank, her mind numb. The first time, there had been guilt—shame even. But now, now there was nothing. Just emptiness. A hollow space where her conscience used to be.

This became routine. Bats, rats, birds—anything she could find. They were small, insignificant. But they fed the magic, and that was all that mattered. Each sacrifice brought her closer to the answers she sought, to the goal she couldn't let go of. The first time she'd held a blade to a living creature, she had hesitated. Her hand had shaken, her heart had raced. But with each subsequent offering, the trembling stopped. The fear faded.

Now, when she held the blade, her movements were precise, almost graceful. The creatures no longer fought as she bound them in place, their small bodies trembling as if they could sense the inevitable. Bats, rats, birds—whatever she could find. Their lives were brief, their blood a mere tool, a stepping stone toward something greater. Their squeals and screeches meant nothing to her now.

The room was quiet, save for the crackling of the candles and the soft hum of power in the air. She could feel the magic coiling around her, growing stronger, more demanding. It whispered in her ear, promising her power, promising her the ability to do what she needed to do. To bring back Grandpa Max. To fix everything

The bat lay motionless before her, its wings spread out on the makeshift altar she had crafted. Candles flickered around her, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls. She raised the silver blade, no longer feeling the weight of it in her hand. It had become an extension of herself, just as the dark magic had.

With one swift motion, the blade cut cleanly, the bat's blood flowing freely, soaking into the sigils she had drawn around it. The spellbook before her glowed faintly, almost approvingly, as if it fed off the death, off the energy of the life she had just taken. Gwen didn't flinch. She didn't blink. She simply watched as the life drained from the creature, her expression unreadable, distant.

Her hands were stained red more often than not, the cuts on her arms now mingled with the blood of the creatures she offered up to the dark magic. The once vibrant Gwen, who laughed and smiled, who had been the heart of her group, was no more. She moved through her days like a ghost, silent, distant. She barely spoke to Ben or Kevin, barely noticed their grief. When they tried to talk to her, she only gave them blank stares, as though they were strangers to her now. Their words washed over her, meaningless.

Kevin had noticed it first—the way she hardly looked at him anymore, how she recoiled when he tried to touch her. Ben had tried to confront her, desperate to bring her back, but Gwen had brushed him off, her mind already elsewhere, wrapped in her obsession.

It was easier that way, she told herself. Easier to focus on the magic, on the rituals, on the book. There was no room for distractions. No room for doubt.

The dark magic was changing her, moulding her into something unrecognisable. But she couldn't stop. Not now. She had come too far, sacrificed too much. Each ritual, each death brought her closer to the power she needed. The mark on her wrist pulsed with a deep, ominous glow now, as if it were feeding off the blood she spilled, growing stronger with each passing day.

And yet, deep down, Gwen could feel something slipping away—the part of her that once cared, that once felt. It was fading, bit by bit, replaced by something darker, something colder. Her hands trembled more often now, her thoughts clouded with the voices of the spellbook. But she pressed on. She had to. For Grandpa Max. For the only family she had left.

But even as she told herself this, a small voice in the back of her mind wondered if it was truly her goal that drove her now, or if it was the power itself—twisting her, consuming her.

But the more she sacrificed, the more the power within her grew, and with it, the whispers grew louder. Darker. She was losing herself to the magic, bit by bit, but she no longer cared. It was all for a greater purpose, she told herself. She had to keep going. She was close—so close.

The power was consuming her, but it was also giving her strength—strength she had never known before. She could feel it in every inch of her body, pulsing just beneath her skin, coiled and ready. It whispered to her, promising more if she was willing to give. And she was. She would give anything.

The livestock were no longer enough.

She stood over a pile of animal carcasses, their bodies lifeless, their blood smeared across the floor. Her mind barely registered the carnage anymore. The book glowed ominously before her, its pages flipping on their own as though searching for something new to offer her. It wanted more. It demanded more. The magic within her screamed for something stronger, something with a soul more potent than the tiny lives she had snuffed out.

Gwen's hands trembled as she wiped the blood from her blade. She had known this moment was coming, but even now, standing on the precipice, she felt a flicker of doubt.

But then the whispers came again, stronger this time, more insistent. They drowned out everything else.

It's the only way.

She clenched her fists, her nails digging into the flesh of her palms, and turned her gaze toward the spellbook. The power was pulling her in, dragging her down, and she was no longer resisting. She had come too far to stop now. The livestock had been a step—a necessary one—but the next step was clear.

Her heart hardened. Her mind focused. The time for greater sacrifices was fast approaching. And Gwen was ready.

The chill of the night clung to Gwen, wrapping itself around her like a cloak as she wandered through the desolate streets. The moon hung low in the sky, veiled behind a thick layer of clouds, casting the city in a dim, oppressive gloom. Her footsteps echoed off the concrete, measured, deliberate. A sense of dread coiled within her, but alongside it, something else stirred—something darker, hungrier. The power she had been nursing, feeding with small sacrifices, had grown impatient. It craved more, and the whispers of the dark magic clawed at her thoughts, urging her forward.

It had started small—rats, birds, bats. But now, the whispers demanded a higher price. A human life.

Gwen's pulse quickened, but not with fear. No, it was something else. The anticipation gnawed at her, filling the spaces where her conscience once resided. As much as her rational mind recoiled at what she was about to do, something inside her craved the release, the surge of power she knew it would bring. She felt her stomach churn as she clutched the dagger hidden beneath her cloak. This was the price of knowledge, she told herself. The price of power.

She turned a corner and spotted her destination—a narrow alley, cloaked in shadows. There, huddled in the farthest corner, lay Edna. The old woman had been living on the streets for as long as Gwen could remember. Her wrinkled face, framed by thinning grey hair, turned up from her ragged blanket, her eyes brightening with recognition as Gwen approached. In Edna's mind, Gwen was a saviour—someone who had shown her kindness in the past, offering food and warmth on cold nights like this one.

"Gwen," Edna rasped, her voice worn and tired but still laced with a faint hope. "What brings you out this late, love? I didn't think I'd see you tonight."

For a moment, Gwen hesitated, her hand tightening around the dagger's hilt. She stared down at Edna, memories flickering behind her eyes—nights spent giving the woman spare coins, buying her a hot drink. But those memories felt distant now, muffled beneath the relentless hiss of the magic twisting through her mind. The voice that had once whispered had become louder, more insistent, drowning out the remnants of her humanity.

"You…" Gwen's voice was low, barely more than a growl. She took a step closer, her face hardening. "You're nothing but a waste."

Edna blinked, confusion clouding her eyes. "What do you mean, sweetheart? I thought—"

"Thought what?" Gwen snapped, her voice harsh and cold. "That I actually cared? Look at you—sitting here in your filth, expecting someone to save you. You're nothing. You should've died long ago."

The venom in Gwen's words cut deep, and Edna flinched, recoiling as if physically struck. "I-I don't understand," she stammered, her voice trembling with fear. "Gwen, please, you're not like this. What happened to you?"

Gwen's hand trembled as she gripped the dagger tighter, her knuckles white. A flicker of guilt sparked in her chest, but it was smothered almost immediately by the dark magic's insidious pull. She took another step closer, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she felt the power building inside her, pushing her forward.

"I don't need your pity, Edna," Gwen sneered, her voice barely recognizable. "You're a parasite—clinging to life for what? You have nothing. You are nothing."

Edna's eyes welled with tears, her frail body shaking as she pressed herself against the cold, unforgiving wall. "Please… Gwen…" Her voice was a whisper now, broken and pleading. "I-I don't understand…"

The dark magic roared in Gwen's ears, drowning out Edna's words. The voices in her head demanded it. They had been patient long enough, and now they wanted blood—her offering in exchange for the power she had been promised. The spell's hunger gnawed at her insides, twisting her thoughts until the act felt inevitable.

With a swift, almost mechanical motion, Gwen pulled the dagger from beneath her cloak, its blade gleaming ominously in the dim light. For a split second, her hand wavered, hovering above Edna's hunched form. A flood of doubt crashed through her, the realisation of what she was about to do threatening to paralyse her. But the dark power surged again, stronger, more insistent, and Gwen's expression hardened.

"This is what it takes," she muttered under her breath, her voice trembling. "This is what I need."

Edna's eyes widened in horror as she saw the blade, but before she could scream, Gwen moved. The knife plunged deep into Edna's chest, and the sound that followed was sickening—a wet gasp, the gurgle of blood as it filled her lungs. Edna's frail hands clawed weakly at Gwen's wrist, but there was no strength left in her.

Gwen's breath hitched as she felt the life drain from the woman beneath her, the warmth of Edna's blood seeping over her hands. The weight of what she had done crashed down on her, but beneath the horror was a twisted sense of triumph. The magic had been fed, the sacrifice complete. The surge of dark power flooded through Gwen, stronger than it had ever been before. It was intoxicating, a cold rush that filled every corner of her being, drowning out the last vestiges of guilt.

She watched in silent terror as Edna's body slumped to the ground, her eyes wide open, now empty, staring into nothingness. Gwen stood there, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her hands slick with blood. The alley seemed to close in around her, the walls pressing down, suffocating her with the weight of her actions.

For a moment, the world went silent. No whispers. No magic. Just the sound of Gwen's own heart pounding in her chest as she stared down at the body of the woman she had once helped.

Then, the whispers returned. They coiled around her, more seductive than ever. Promising her that this was only the beginning. That there was so much more she could achieve, so much more power to gain if she was willing to pay the price.

Gwen took a step back, her body trembling. The rush of power was still there, but it no longer felt exhilarating. It felt wrong, twisted. Her eyes flickered over the bloodstained dagger in her hand, the metallic scent filling her nostrils. She felt nauseous.

But as much as the guilt gnawed at her, as much as the horror of what she had done threatened to consume her, the dark magic whispered soothingly in her ear, urging her to keep going. To bury the regret. To embrace the power.

But the ritual was far from complete.

With a cold precision, Gwen knelt beside the body, the sound of her ragged breathing the only thing breaking the eerie stillness of the alley. She reached into her cloak and pulled out a small, tarnished goblet, its silver edges catching the faint light from the nearby streetlamp. The vessel had been passed to her in one of the dark texts, a tool meant to harness the energy from a sacrifice.

Edna's blood, still warm, trickled steadily from the wound in her chest, staining her clothes in deep crimson. Gwen hesitated, her stomach twisting in knots, but the voices returned, stronger now, urging her to continue. The price had been paid, and the reward was within reach.

With steady hands, Gwen positioned the goblet beneath the wound, watching as the blood dripped into the vessel. The sight was grotesque, but she couldn't pull her eyes away. The goblet filled slowly, the thick liquid swirling inside, almost hypnotic. Gwen's heartbeat quickened, matching the slow, rhythmic drip of the blood.

The moment the goblet was full, the dark magic inside her surged again, a pulse of energy that made her skin crawl and her head throb. She could feel it—the power she had been seeking, the magic she needed to understand more, to experiment, to finally unlock the secret to resurrecting Max. This was only a step, she told herself, a step towards a greater goal.

But it was a lie. Deep down, she knew she had crossed a line.

Gwen rose to her feet, the goblet cradled carefully in her trembling hands. With one last look at Edna's lifeless form, Gwen turned and disappeared into the night, her footsteps echoing in the empty streets.

There was no going back now.

The trio sat together in the living room of Gwen's apartment, the tension between them palpable. It had been almost a year since Gwen moved out. Ben and Kevin could no longer ignore the distance that had grown between them and Gwen, her once warm and caring nature now replaced by a cold, almost mechanical detachment.

Ben shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he glanced over at his cousin. Gwen sat on the opposite couch, her legs crossed, arms folded tightly across her chest. Her eyes stared ahead, unblinking, as if she were somewhere else entirely. The dark circles beneath her eyes betrayed how little sleep she had gotten lately—likely from long nights of ritual studies. She had barely spoken a word since she arrived, and her disinterest in being there was painfully obvious.

"We could use your help," Ben said, breaking the silence. "There's been another incident."

Kevin leaned forward, sensing Gwen's lack of enthusiasm. "Yeah. Some sicko's been going around, targeting kids. They call him Herbert Zomboni. He's a psycho. Dresses like a clown or something."

Gwen barely reacted, her gaze still fixed on the wall. Her fingers tapped lightly against her arm, impatience flickering across her face. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked, her voice flat. "I don't care."

Ben exchanged a concerned look with Kevin before he pressed on. "We're not asking you to care, Gwen. We're asking for your help. We know you're... different now. Stronger. And we need you."

Gwen scoffed, finally turning her head to face them. Her eyes were cold, distant. "I'm in the middle of something far more important. I don't have time to waste on this. I'm close to something—something that actually matters."

Ben's face tightened with frustration. "We get it, Gwen. You've been keeping to yourself for months, barely talking to us, barely acknowledging anything outside of your damn studies. You're obsessed. But this isn't just about some random freak—there are kids involved! Innocent kids who need us."

Gwen's expression didn't change. She simply stared at him, her apathy almost chilling.

Kevin jumped in, his tone softer but just as urgent. "Look, we've noticed how you've been distancing yourself. And we're worried. This... this could be a way to bring us back together. Maybe doing this will help us—help you—remember who you are. We used to be a team. We need that again."

There was a long pause as Gwen considered their words. For a brief moment, something flickered behind her eyes, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. She sighed, clearly irritated but resigned. "Fine," she muttered. "But I want to get this over with. The sooner it's done, the sooner I can go back to my work."

Ben and Kevin exchanged a glance—small relief mixed with unease. Something about Gwen still felt wrong. But they had no choice. They needed her.

The car ride to Herbert Zomboni's lair was tense—an awkward, suffocating silence hung in the air like a storm waiting to break. Kevin sat behind the wheel, his eyes flicking nervously between the road and the rearview mirror, where Gwen sat slouched in the back seat, arms crossed over her chest, staring blankly out of the window. Ben sat beside Kevin in the passenger seat, shifting uncomfortably as he tried to find the right words to fill the void.

For the first few miles, they said nothing, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the occasional bump in the road. It was as if an invisible barrier had formed between them, one that neither Ben nor Kevin knew how to break through.

"So..." Kevin finally spoke, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Uh, remember that time we fought that giant mutant frog thing? What was that? Like, four years ago?" He chuckled, forcing a laugh. "Man, that thing almost ate me whole. Good times, huh?"

Gwen didn't even look up. Her gaze remained fixed on the passing scenery, her expression void of any reaction. She might as well have been a statue, cold and unmoved.

Ben tried to join in, his voice overly bright in a desperate attempt to lighten the mood. "Yeah, Kev almost got swallowed alive. I remember! And you, Gwen—you saved his ass with that crazy spell. You were awesome!"

There was a long pause before Gwen finally responded, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. "That was a long time ago."

The simple, dry statement hung in the air, sucking the wind out of Ben's attempt at conversation. Kevin shifted in his seat, glancing nervously at Ben, silently pleading for him to keep going.

"Yeah, uh, I mean, we've been through a lot together, haven't we?" Ben said, his voice faltering slightly. "I know things have been... tough lately, with Grandpa Max and everything, but... we're still a team, right? We've always had each other's backs."

Gwen's eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror, her gaze briefly locking with Ben's before returning to the window. "Does it matter?"

Her words hit like a punch to the gut. Kevin rubbed the back of his neck, trying to suppress the frustration rising in his chest. "Come on, Gwen. We're just trying to talk. We haven't seen you in months. You've been—"

"I've been busy," she interrupted, her tone sharp but hollow. "I don't have time for pointless conversations."

Kevin gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, his knuckles turning white. He exchanged a worried glance with Ben. Gwen wasn't just distant—she was completely shut off. She hadn't been herself for months, and no matter what they said, no matter how hard they tried, it felt like they were losing her.

"You know we care about you, right?" Ben said, his voice softer this time, almost pleading. "I get that you're dealing with a lot, but so are we. We're your family. You don't have to go through this alone."

For a moment, it looked like Gwen might respond. Her eyes flickered with something—some trace of emotion—but it vanished just as quickly as it appeared. Instead, she sighed, leaning her head against the window, her expression unchanged.

"I said I'd help you with Zomboni," she said, her voice devoid of any warmth. "Let's just focus on that."

The silence returned, even heavier than before. Ben and Kevin exchanged one last look, both of them filled with a quiet, unspoken fear. The Gwen they knew—the Gwen who used to laugh, joke, and care—was slipping further and further away, replaced by someone colder, someone consumed by something far darker than they could understand.

For the rest of the ride, neither of them tried to speak again.

The abandoned warehouse where Herbert Zomboni had made his lair was every bit as grim as they had expected. It was dark, cold, and reeked of decay. The faint sound of Zomboni's unnerving, high-pitched giggling echoed through the empty halls. Ben and Kevin moved cautiously, their senses heightened, but Gwen followed behind them almost lazily, her hands in her pockets, clearly disinterested in the task at hand.

"Stay sharp," Ben whispered, glancing over his shoulder at Gwen, who was trailing behind. She gave a noncommittal nod, her mind clearly elsewhere.

They turned a corner, and there he was—Herbert Zomboni, crouched in the middle of a dimly lit room. His clown makeup was smeared, his teeth yellowed and rotting. His eyes glinted with insanity as he held a small, bloody knife in his hands, toying with it like a plaything.

"Oh I can't wait to show you kids my tricks," Zomboni giggled with a sinister glee.

Ben and Kevin tensed, readying themselves for a fight, but before they could act, Gwen stepped forward. There was no hesitation, no fear—just cold, calculated precision. Her hand extended, and with a flick of her wrist, a dark energy swirled around her.

Zomboni barely had time to react before he was flung back against the wall by an unseen force. His body slammed against the concrete with a sickening thud, and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious. The entire confrontation had lasted mere seconds, Gwen's power overwhelming him instantly.

Ben and Kevin stood frozen in shock, staring at the now limp form of Zomboni. They had never seen Gwen act so decisively—so ruthlessly. There had been no struggle, no back-and-forth. Just an overwhelming display of dark magic that left Zomboni incapacitated.

For Gwen, it was nothing. She had felt no rush of adrenaline, no satisfaction. The power within her was so vast now, so instinctual, that neutralising Zomboni had felt as easy as breathing. The only thing she felt was impatience—impatience to return to her studies.

But as she stood over Zomboni's unconscious body, the dark magic inside her stirred, whispering its insidious desires. She raised her hand, the same cold energy crackling around her fingers as she prepared to finish the job. A simple spell. A final strike. Zomboni's life would be snuffed out, and she could return to her work.

"Gwen!" Ben's voice cut through the haze, jolting her from her trance.

She turned to face him, her eyes dark, her expression blank. "What?"

"Stop!" Ben shouted, stepping forward, alarm in his voice. "We came here to stop him—not kill him!"

Kevin stood beside Ben, his face pale with shock. "What the hell are you doing? You can't just—just kill him!"

Gwen blinked, her gaze shifting between Ben and Kevin, then back to Zomboni. Her hand still hovered in the air, the magic thrumming at her fingertips, begging to be unleashed. For a moment, she considered it—considered how easy it would be to end it all right there. Zomboni didn't deserve to live.

His life meant nothing.

But then she saw the look on Ben's face—the fear, the concern. And something inside her shifted, if only for a second. With a sigh, she lowered her hand, the dark energy dissipating into the air.

"Fine," she muttered. "Let's get this over with."

Ben and Kevin exchanged uneasy glances as they watched Gwen turn away from Zomboni, her cold indifference leaving a lingering chill in the air. This wasn't the Gwen they knew—this was someone, something, else. The dark magic had taken root in her, and they feared that it had already claimed more of her than they could ever hope to save.

As they arrived back at Gwen's apartment, the tension in the air was thick and palpable. The front door creaked open, and without a word, Gwen immediately slipped behind it, intending to close the door behind her, her movement quick and determined as she hurriedly slithered into her room, eager to return to the dark studies that awaited her.

But before she could close the door, Ben's voice cut through the silence. "Gwen, wait."

She paused mid-step, her hand gripping the door tightly, her back turned to them. For a moment, she didn't respond, her body stiffening in irritation. Then, with a slow exhale, she turned halfway, her expression indifferent as her eyes met Ben and Kevin's.

"We need to talk," Kevin added, standing beside Ben, arms crossed over his chest. His tone was unusually serious, concern lacing his words. "About what happened back there. About Zomboni."

Gwen's eyes narrowed slightly, her patience clearly wearing thin. "What about it? We caught him. Problem solved."

Ben stepped forward, frustration and confusion evident in his voice. "No, Gwen, that's not it. You were ready to kill him. You were about to kill Zomboni. What the hell was that about?"

Gwen's gaze flickered briefly, but her face remained expressionless, her voice cold and detached. "Zomboni deserved it. Someone like him—he's better off dead."

Kevin scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "What? You can't be serious. He's a psycho, sure, but we don't just go around killing people. That's not who we are."

Gwen crossed her arms, her posture rigid as if she were building a wall between herself and them. "Isn't it? Look at what he's done. How many children did he kill? How many families did he destroy? He's a danger to everyone. Locking him up won't change that."

Ben's voice softened, his confusion giving way to concern. "Gwen, you've never been like this. You've never—what's going on with you? This isn't you. Killing someone like Zomboni, no matter how horrible he is, that's not the answer."

Gwen's lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes darkening as she turned fully to face them. Her voice was icy, but there was a flicker of something deeper beneath the surface—something dangerous. "People like Zomboni don't deserve to live. He's a monster, and monsters like him... they don't belong in this world. If he's allowed to live, he'll just hurt more people. More children. He'll get out, or someone will find a way to free him. And then what?"

Ben stared at her, his brows furrowed in disbelief. "We're not executioners, Gwen. That's not how we do things. There's a line, and you crossed it."

Gwen's gaze sharpened, her jaw tightening. "Maybe you're not willing to cross that line, but I am. He's not the first monster I've dealt with, and he won't be the last. Sometimes, you have to do what's necessary."

Kevin stepped forward, his voice edged with frustration. "Necessary? Killing people is necessary to you now? What happened to you, Gwen?"

For a moment, Gwen didn't respond, her cold eyes meeting Kevin's. Then she shrugged, as if the answer were obvious. "I've learned that there are greater things at stake than clinging to some moral high ground. Some people are beyond saving. And Zomboni was one of them."

Ben took a deep breath, his heart sinking as he watched his cousin—someone he once knew so well—now standing before him, a stranger. "Gwen, this... this isn't you. We're worried about you."

Gwen's lips curled into a bitter smile, one that didn't reach her eyes. "I'm fine. I'm just seeing things for what they are now. Maybe it's you two who are blind."

With that, she turned away from them, closing the door behind her without another word. Ben and Kevin stood frozen at her door, stunned into silence as they watched her disappear into her room, her footsteps growing softer and softer until it was just silence.

It was as if Gwen had slipped further away, not just from them, but from herself—consumed by something far darker than either of them could comprehend.