After Chloe and Peter left, I slept for a very long time. But I still heard voices from living hall, laughing and talking.
The world was blurry again when I opened my eyes.
Soft light filtered through the curtains. The smell of freshly baked bread and the faint sound of laughter floated from the kitchen downstairs.
For a second, I smiled sleepily, thinking maybe Liam or Peter had snuck in to check on me.
But when I turned my head slightly—my heart froze.
Sitting on the edge of the window, half-shrouded in the fluttering drapes, was her.
Mrs. Maria Grace.
I blinked hard, trying to convince myself it was a dream. A hallucination. A trick of the light. Anything but real.
But no—she was there, real as the cold shiver crawling up my spine.
She smiled softly, her hands folded neatly in her lap like some ancient painting come to life. Her silver hair was loose today, cascading down her back in ghostly waves. Her eyes… sharp, calculating, familiar.
I opened my mouth to scream—where the hell did she come from?—but no sound came out.
Of course not. She was a witch.
She didn't need doors. Or invitations. A window was enough for her.
"You don't have to be afraid," she said quietly, her voice smooth like silk yet full of something that made my skin crawl. "I only wanted to see you… before it begins."
I struggled to sit up, my arms shaking with the effort. My voice was hoarse, cracked. "W-What begins?"
Maria Grace tilted her head slightly, like a mother admiring a stubborn child. "You've been resting too long, dear Emma. Fate doesn't pause just because you're healing."
I stared at her, my hands gripping the bedsheets so tightly my knuckles went white. "How did you even get in?"
She laughed—soft, almost pitying. "Your heart called me. I don't need locks or doors where I come from."
A chill spread through me, colder than anything the hospital could have ever given. "Stay away from my friends," I rasped.
Her smile widened a little, but her eyes—those wickedly knowing eyes—dimmed.
"I'm not here for your friends," she said. "I'm here for you."
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet her gaze even though every instinct screamed at me to look away.
"Why me?" I demanded. "Why do you keep coming back? What do you want from me?"
Maria Grace stood up gracefully, brushing invisible dust from her black dress. She walked toward me slowly, her footsteps silent on the carpet.
"Because you remember," she said. "Even if you don't understand it yet… your blood remembers. Your soul remembers."
I shook my head, my breathing growing shallow. "No. I don't. I don't want any of this."
She stopped right beside my bed, so close I could feel the coldness radiating from her body.
"But you have no choice, Emma," she whispered, leaning down until her mouth was near my ear. "Neither did she."
I flinched back, my entire body screaming in protest, but she straightened and smiled again—serene, deadly.
"You are the key," she said. "And very soon… they'll come looking for it."
I opened my mouth to demand answers, to tell her to get out, to scream for Liam or Peter—
—but with a flick of her wrist, she was gone.
Just like that.
Only the soft flutter of the curtains and the lingering scent of lavender told me she had ever been there.
I sat there, panting, frozen in place. The room, once warm and full of life, now felt hollow.
Empty.
And for the first time since I woke up at Liam's house…
I realized: this peace was temporary.
The real nightmare was just beginning.
For a few long minutes after Maria Grace vanished, I sat frozen, staring at the empty window.
The wind outside rustled the curtains, and the distant sound of birds somehow felt fake—like they didn't belong in this thick, heavy air.
She was gone.
She really was.
I let out a shaky breath, forcing myself to believe it.
My legs still felt useless, heavy and disconnected, but I had to get up. Had to close that window, lock it, bolt it—do something to feel safe.
Gritting my teeth, I pushed myself upright, struggling with my arms to swing my legs off the bed. They flopped uselessly like broken sticks.
I dragged myself inch by inch, cursing my weak body and the stupid chair that was too far from reach.
Just as I gripped the side table for support, ready to try standing, a low voice sliced through the air.
"You shouldn't strain yourself, Emma."
I froze.
My heart nearly jumped into my throat.
I turned my head slowly—terrified of what I'd find—and there, sitting calmly in the corner of my bed,
was Julie.
Julie.
Peter's mother.
The same woman who had attacked me.
The same woman who had almost killed me.
I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't move.
The room spun violently for a second.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I rasped, my throat dry and cracked.
Julie raised her hands slightly, as if to show she meant no harm.
Her face was soft this time—not furious, not wild like last time. There was sadness in her eyes. Almost... regret.
"I'm not here to hurt you," she said gently. "I came because you deserve the truth."
I stared at her, my heart hammering so loudly in my ears it drowned out her words for a second.
"Stay away from me," I whispered, shifting backward on the bed, as far as my broken body could carry me.
But she didn't move closer.
She just... sat there. Watching me with mournful eyes.
"I knew Amelia," she said.
Her voice was low, almost whispery. "I knew her when she was alive... in the time before everything went wrong."
I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing, praying for someone to walk in. Peter. Liam. Anyone.
But it was just us.
Me and the woman who had nearly ended my life.
Julie continued, her voice thick with something I couldn't name—guilt? Fear?
"There's a ritual being prepared," she said. "It will happen in four months' time."
I opened my eyes again, swallowing the lump in my throat. "What ritual?" I croaked.
She leaned in slightly, her silver hair catching the dim light.
"The ritual will awaken Amelia," she said. "Completely."
I shivered uncontrollably.
"If it succeeds," she went on, "your soul will be trapped inside your body—just a silent prisoner, suffering in a corner. And Amelia… she will have full control. She will rule your body. Your mind."
"No..." I breathed, tears stinging my eyes.
Julie nodded grimly.
"And she will do things that will break the laws of nature itself. She will wake the dead. Twist life into something it was never meant to be."
I shook my head violently, my hands clawing at the bed sheets. "No, no, no—"
"There are consequences," Julie said quietly. "Dark, irreversible consequences."
I felt the blood drain from my face.
The room spun again.
I was sweating heavily, cold and clammy.
Julie stood up slowly, moving closer—and panic exploded inside me. I scrambled backward, my back hitting the headboard hard, pain shooting through my weak muscles.
"Don't come near me," I gasped.
She stopped, sadness filling her face.
She didn't argue.
Didn't try to force herself on me.
Just as the tension became unbearable, the door creaked open.
A soft voice called out.
"Miss Emma?"
It was a maid.
Julie flickered—yes, flickered—like a dying light bulb—and then vanished into thin air, leaving only the faintest wisp of cold air behind.
The maid walked in, concern written all over her face.
"I heard noises… are you alright?" she asked, hurrying to my side.
I couldn't speak.
Could barely breathe.
I was shaking, sweating through my clothes, my chest heaving like I'd run a marathon.
The maid touched my forehead, concerned.
"You're burning up. Should I call Mr. Liam?"
I shook my head weakly. I couldn't drag anyone else into this madness.
Not yet.
I closed my eyes, feeling tears slip out despite myself.
Because for the first time…
I realized I was truly, completely trapped.
And time was running out.