The rehearsal room at the studio had the quiet tension of a classroom before an exam.

  Scripts lay open across the long conference table. Bottles of water, coffee cups, and highlighters littered the space between the cast. Overhead lights glowed softly against the polished wood floor while a production assistant hovered near the door with a tablet and a worried expression.

  At the center of the table, Neve Campbell sat with her script folded neatly in front of her.

  Across from her were Melissa Barrera and Jenna Ortega, heads bent together as they quietly compared notes on a scene. Mason Gooding leaned back in his chair with the easy posture of someone trying to look relaxed while waiting for work to begin.

  Jasmin Savoy Brown was flipping through pages with a pencil between her teeth.

  Isabel May sat quietly beside them, studying her script with intense focus.

  Joel McHale stood near the coffee table, stirring cream into a mug with a plastic stir stick while reading a page of dialogue.

  Oliver sat near the far end of the table beside Marie and Trevor.

  Trevor had one leg crossed over the other, lazily tapping the toe of his boot against the floor.

  “So,” Trevor said in his thick New Zealand accent, glancing at his script, “this is the part where the masked lunatic rings someone and asks them a question about horror films again?”

  Jasmin looked up.

  “It's a Scream movie.”

  Trevor shrugged.

  “Right, but statistically speaking someone should just stop answering the phone by now.”

  Mason chuckled.

  “That would end the franchise.”

  Oliver leaned forward and read from the script in a flat, mocking tone.

  “What’s your favorite scary movie?”

  The line hung in the air.

  Everyone smirked.

  Joel lifted his coffee.

  “Classic.”

  Then—

  A phone buzzed.

  Another.

  Then another.

  Within seconds the quiet room filled with the vibration of notifications.

  Melissa glanced down at her phone.

  Her smile disappeared.

  Jenna noticed immediately.

  “What?”

  Melissa didn’t answer.

  She stared at the screen.

  Then whispered—

  “Oh my God.”

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  The room fell silent.

  “What?” Mason asked again.

  Melissa looked up slowly.

  “Anna Camp.”

  Jenna leaned forward.

  “What about her?”

  Melissa swallowed.

  “She’s dead.”

  The words hit the room like a gunshot.

  Joel lowered his coffee slowly.

  “You’re kidding.”

  Melissa shook her head.

  “She was just found in a parking garage.”

  Jasmin grabbed her own phone and began searching.

  “Oh my God,” she said seconds later.

  “It’s everywhere.”

  Courteney Cox stood up from her chair near the window.

  “You’re serious?”

  Jenna’s phone buzzed again.

  Another alert.

  Another headline.

  “Fourth actor connected to the Scream franchise murdered.”

  Mason muttered quietly—

  “Jesus.”

  Across the table, Isabel May looked pale.

  “So this is… real?”

  Joel ran a hand through his hair.

  “This is insane.”

  Near the center of the table, Neve Campbell stared at the article on her phone.

  Her expression was calm.

  But there was something heavy behind her eyes now.

  The exhaustion of someone who had lived inside this nightmare story for three decades.

  Jenna spoke again.

  “That’s four.”

  Melissa nodded.

  “Matthew Lillard.”

  “Jack Champion.”

  “Dermot Mulroney.”

  “And now Anna.”

  The names felt heavier every time they were spoken.

  The room buzzed with anxious conversation until Marie glanced toward Oliver.

  He hadn’t said anything.

  He was staring at his phone with a look she recognized instantly.

  She nudged him with her elbow.

  “You’ve got that face again.”

  Oliver didn’t look up.

  “What face?”

  “The one you make when something in your brain just clicked.”

  Trevor leaned over slightly.

  “Yeah mate, you look like someone just explained the plot twist to you.”

  Oliver finally lifted his head.

  His eyes moved slowly across the room.

  “Matthew Lillard,” he said quietly.

  Melissa nodded.

  “Yes. We know.”

  Oliver continued.

  “Jack Champion.”

  “Dermot Mulroney.”

  “Anna Camp.”

  Jasmin folded her arms.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “We know the victims.”

  Oliver shook his head.

  “That’s not what I’m listing.”

  The room slowly quieted again.

  Trevor frowned.

  “Then what are you listing?”

  Oliver tapped the screen of his phone.

  “The characters.”

  Jenna tilted her head.

  “What characters?”

  Oliver answered simply.

  “Ghostface.”

  The word settled across the room like fog.

  Oliver looked down at his phone again.

  “Stu Macher.”

  He scrolled.

  “Detective Bailey.”

  “Ethan Landry.”

  “Quinn Bailey.”

  He continued.

  “Amber Freeman.”

  “Richie Kirsch.”

  Nobody spoke.

  Oliver leaned back slightly in his chair.

  “They’re not targeting actors.”

  His voice dropped.

  “They’re targeting Ghostface.”

  The realization rippled across the table.

  Melissa blinked slowly.

  “…What?”

  Oliver scrolled further down his list.

  “If that’s the rule, then we can map the rest.”

  He read again.

  “Billy Loomis.”

  Across the table Skeet Ulrich shifted slightly in his chair.

  It was subtle.

  Barely noticeable.

  But Oliver caught it.

  A strange tightening around Skeet’s eyes.

  Not fear.

  Not confusion.

  Just… recognition.

  Oliver kept going.

  “Roman Bridger.”

  “Jill Roberts.”

  “Charlie Walker.”

  “Wayne Bailey.”

  “Ethan Landry.”

  Then he stopped.

  His finger hovered over the next name.

  Trevor leaned forward.

  “Who’s next?”

  Oliver looked up slowly.

  “Preston Meyers.”

  Trevor frowned.

  “Who the hell is Preston Meyers?”

  Oliver answered immediately.

  “The killer from Scream VII.”

  The room processed that.

  Jenna sat up straighter.

  “Oh.”

  Mason’s eyes widened.

  “Oh shit.”

  Oliver nodded slowly.

  “If someone’s killing everyone who played Ghostface…”

  He looked around the table.

  “…then Preston Meyers is next.”

  The room went dead silent.

  No one needed to say the name.

  Everyone understood who Oliver meant.

  Ethan Embry.

  Joel exhaled slowly.

  “Well that’s… horrifying.”

  Jasmin spoke quietly.

  “Someone should call him.”

  Melissa picked up her phone.

  “I don’t have his number.”

  Trevor shrugged.

  “Surely his agent does.”

  A production assistant near the door began typing frantically on a tablet.

  “Trying,” they said.

  Oliver leaned back in his chair.

  Something still bothered him.

  Something about the pattern.

  The theatrical nature of the killings.

  Matthew.

  Jack.

  Dermot.

  Anna.

  All dramatic.

  All staged.

  All very… cinematic.

  His phone buzzed again.

  Everyone’s did.

  Melissa looked down first.

  Her face went pale.

  “Oh my God.”

  Jenna grabbed her arm.

  “What now?”

  Melissa turned the phone toward them.

  The headline glowed against the screen.

  BREAKING NEWS

  ACTOR ETHAN EMBRY FOUND DEAD IN LOS ANGELES HOME

  The room froze.

  No one moved.

  No one spoke.

  Oliver stared at the headline.

  His mind turning slowly.

  Something about it didn’t feel right.

  The article was short.

  Too short.

  No details.

  No weapon.

  No description.

  Just—

  Dead.

  Trevor whispered quietly—

  “Well.”

  Oliver leaned back in his chair.

  “…Too late.”