Elias is dead.
Maya cannot bring herself to accept it. The thought loops endlessly in her mind, like an obsessive melody. She wants to believe it's just another hallucination, a cruel trick of her own imagination. But Jenks saw it too. So, it's real. Horribly real.
The images of the scene keep replaying, brutal and vivid, as if they're happening right before her eyes. Everything had seemed fine. Somehow, in a way Maya still doesn't understand, Elias had managed to reach Jimmy, to push Hugo back. For a few precious seconds, Jimmy had regained control. Just a few seconds.
And then Hugo had taken his revenge—horribly.
Maya sees it again: his twisted, inhuman grin stretching across his face as he charged at the poor priest. The brutal movement, Elias grabbed like a rag doll, the open window yawning into the freezing night. She still hears the echo of that scream—piercing, terrified—cutting off abruptly as he disappeared into the darkness. Then, silence. That unbearable silence.
She clings desperately to a faint hope, no matter how slim. Maybe he's still alive? It had snowed so much. Maybe the thick snowdrifts at the base of the manor cushioned his fall? But another, crueler thought presses in: the mask. The mask shattered with a sickening crash. And the echo of that sound rings in her head, inescapable.
Elias is dead.
She hopes he's found peace. That he's sitting on a little stone bench in the paradise he believed in, teaching less wise souls about the importance of forgiveness. She wants to believe it. But deep down, she fears Elias has joined the long list of damned spirits haunting this manor.
A wave of nausea grips her, a chilling flood of guilt and helplessness. Elias is dead. And she couldn't do anything to stop it.
Maya lifts her eyes and watches Jenks pacing back and forth in the room filled with drawings, his face tense, marked by a strain he cannot hide. After the shock of Elias's tragic fall, Maya had led him here. In this strange space, where childish scribbles seem to freeze a long-lost innocence, she had told him everything. Absolutely everything.
The ghosts she sees. The whispers she hears. The visions that haunt her. She'd poured it all out, just as she had only once before, a year ago, to a skeptical police officer. The trauma of the Sea View Hotel, her stories of ghosts—he'd written it all down, but Maya had seen it in his eyes: he didn't believe a word of it.
She'd stopped talking about it after that.
Until now.
Jenks hasn't interrupted her story, except for a few grave questions, without judgment. Now, he paces back and forth, rubbing his chin, his thoughts visible in his steely blue eyes. Maya, on the other hand, is at her limit. Leaning against a wall, she has slid down to the floor. Her arms clutch her knees tightly against her chest, desperately seeking comfort she cannot seem to find. She feels cold, with a knot in her stomach—a nauseating mix of fear, shame, and despair.
She feels tainted, marked by something she cannot name but believes is deeply embedded within her. Why did Hugo want her? Why does she seem to draw this horror to herself? The thought repulses her. She rests her forehead on her knees, breathing shallowly to suppress the rising nausea.
Jenks stops suddenly, hands on his hips, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, as if searching for answers in invisible cracks. The waiting is unbearable for Maya. Her voice trembles as she breaks the silence.
"Please… just tell me I'm not crazy."
Jenks turns his head toward her immediately, looking surprised, as if the thought hadn't even crossed his mind.
"No… of course not! I don't think you're crazy, Maya."
He crouches down in front of her, placing his firm hands over her icy ones, still gripping her knees.
"The investigation I worked on ten years ago… it changed how I see a lot of things."
Maya lifts her head slightly, her eyes red and puffy.
"The one about Atlas?"
"Yes."
Jenks takes a deep breath, as if summoning courage before continuing.
"During that investigation, I met a young woman, Lisa Blint. She was barely a few years older than you. She looked like you—her hair, her eyes. You remind me of her a lot."
Maya senses a tension in his voice, something weighted.
"What happened to her?" she asks quietly.
Jenks pauses. His features harden, but his gaze retains an unusual gentleness.
"She had been a student at Atlas, then left, traumatized. She described their methods to me… brutal, inhuman. But there was something else."
He hesitates, searching for his words, as if fearing to reveal too much.
"She believed they were… devil worshippers. That they summoned entities and bound them to people. She… she thought they had put a demon inside her. She said she could see it when she looked in mirrors. A version of herself… prematurely aged, decrepit, dying. She was convinced her body no longer belonged to her."
Maya feels an unsettling connection to Jimmy's words. Is this what he saw in the mirrors too? Jenks lowers his gaze, visibly moved by the memory. He swallows hard before continuing.
"You could say she was delusional, but there was something in her eyes… a heartbreaking sincerity. A genuine pain. Lisa was suffering, Maya. And even after that investigation was closed, I could never forget her. Do you believe me when I say that sometimes, even I'm afraid to look in a mirror?"
Maya understands, almost instinctively. He lifts his eyes to her again, finding a semblance of composure.
"So no. You're not crazy. And I don't want you to go through what she did."
Maya doesn't know how to respond. Jenks' words, filled with compassion and gravity, strike a deep chord within her. Her gaze silently thanks him, her words caught in her throat, choked by emotion. He continues, his tone turning more pragmatic.
"I can't rationally explain what's happening here—Elias and his childlike voice, Jimmy and Hugo… None of it fits into a logical framework. But if we want to get out of here alive, we'll have to accept that not everything has an explanation."
He stops, meeting her gaze.
"You said Ashford boasted about having 'contaminated' us, like Lisa thought she had been?"
Maya nods slowly.
"Yes… but she didn't talk about demons, more about ghosts. For what it's worth… she thought it hadn't worked on you."
Jenks nods gently, and she notices the poorly hidden sigh of relief he lets out. Yet, he remains alert, as if piecing together his thoughts. Maya continues, her gaze lowered but her voice steadier now as she unloads what she knows.
"Phoenix is after Hugo. Ashford said he was exceptional. That they had never seen an entity pass from one family member to another, like a… an inheritance. They want to understand how it works. But Jimmy has held on until now."
"What made him lose control?" Jenks frowns, clearly unsettled.
"It's… it's my fault," Maya says, lowering her head in shame, unable to meet his gaze. "Hugo wants me."
Jenks straightens slightly, his eyes locking onto her with intensity.
"Why?"
"I… I don't know!" Her voice rises, filled with frustration and fear. "He said we were… alike. Destined to be together. But I don't know why!"
"It's okay," Jenks says, shaking his head slightly, his tone softening to reassure her. "This isn't your fault, Maya. What puzzles me is how Ashford knows all of this. Phoenix seems damn well informed."
Those words echo in Maya's mind. How could Ashford know about the Hall inheritance? Jimmy didn't seem to have collaborated with her. So where did this information come from? Jenks interrupts her thoughts.
"Do you know where the others are?"
"In their rooms, I think. I saw Camille… through one of the mirrors. She was… possessed by her mask."
Jenks rubs his chin thoughtfully.
"Hmm… Ashford is locked in her office, and her two goons are outside clearing snow. For now, they're not an immediate threat. But if Hugo is hunting, he could very well go after the others. As for our phones, they're locked away. Do you know of another way we could contact the outside?"
The answer comes to Maya instantly.
"The control room."
The memory of the screen-filled room flashes vividly in her mind.
"There's a surveillance room on the second floor. They used the screens to monitor Jimmy's apartments. I can get in with this."
She pulls the magnetic key from her pocket. Jenks extends a hand to help her up.
"Perfect. We'll go together. I should never have left you alone. Lead the way."
Maya moves cautiously, leading Jenks through the dark hallways. The air is icy, and each step echoes faintly, reverberating off the silent walls. The tension is palpable, as though the shadows themselves are watching their every move.
As they pass by a one-way mirror, a flicker of movement catches their attention. Hugo bursts out of a dark room, enraged, slamming the door so violently that a slight tremor runs through the walls. Maya freezes instantly, her heart pounding in her chest. The man's face is twisted with fury, his movements abrupt and almost animalistic. He is looking for her. She knows it. She can feel it in the way he scans the empty space, like a predator on the hunt.
Instinctively, Maya presses herself against the wall, trying to vanish into the shadows. Jenks places a firm hand on her shoulder, applying gentle pressure to reassure her.
"It's okay. He can't see you. Keep moving."
His voice is a calming whisper, though Maya detects a thread of tension in his tone. She takes a deep breath and resumes walking, her pace quickening, her hands trembling.
The path narrows as they ascend to the second floor. The walls seem to close in, and Jenks, much taller than Maya, occasionally has to contort himself to avoid hitting the protruding frames and moldings. Still, they press on.
At last, they reach the mirror leading to the surveillance room. Maya pulls out the magnetic key, her breathing shallow. With a precise motion, she presses the key against the mirror's frame. A click echoes, followed by a faint scraping sound as the mirror slides open, revealing the entrance.
Maya steps cautiously into the room, alert to every sound. The televisions still display the interior of the apartment, which Hugo appears to have trashed. With a quick glance, she notices that the mirror in the bedroom isn't visible on the screens, clearly positioned in a blind spot. This means Jimmy had been able to move through the mirror and wander the manor undetected by Ashford for some time. Was it him who had stopped Simon from going too far with her in the hallway? Very likely—just as he had the means to escape this place. But then… why hadn't he done it?
Jenks approaches the computer set on a wide metal desk in front of the wall of monitors. He moves the mouse, and the screen instantly lights up, revealing a complex yet intuitive interface with files organized by date and video thumbnails.
He selects a random file recorded a few days earlier. The video begins playing, showing the luxurious living room. Jimmy's silhouette appears on the screen. He is seated in a black leather armchair, engrossed in reading a notebook very similar to the one he gave Maya. Jenks fast-forwards the footage. Jimmy's movements become jerky: he stands, walks mechanically to a table where a meal is set, takes a few bites, and then returns to his chair. The scene repeats, over and over, like an endless loop.
Jenks closes the video and opens another one, this time from a week earlier. Jimmy is lying on the kitchen floor, staring at the ceiling. He keeps shifting, sitting up, placing his hands on his head as though trying to tear something out of it. It becomes evident that he is crying.
Maya closes her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady the unease building inside her. Jenks opens a third video, this one recorded several months ago. The scene is different: Jimmy is in an office, standing before a massive mirror. He stares at his reflection, seemingly speaking to it. Then the interaction escalates into a violent argument, culminating in him striking the mirror with a furious punch, stopping only when it shatters into shards and his hand is left bloodied.
Jenks pauses the video there.
"I'll try to call for reinforcements online..."
Maya averts her gaze, choosing instead to scan the rest of the room.
On an adjacent wall, the pale glow of her flashlight reveals a complex family tree pinned up—a display that is both fascinating and unsettling. At the top, a crest is emblazoned, adorned with symbols unfamiliar to her but evoking something ancient, elitist, perhaps even secretive. The branches of the tree stretch out in a labyrinth of alliances and descendants, with names meticulously written in cursive. Beside some of the names, red marker dates stand out, surrounded by question marks or followed by ambiguous notes: missing, unexplained, unconfirmed.
Beneath the tree, a centuries-old map of England is tacked to the wall, its edges yellowed and frayed. Red dots mark specific locations, connected by lines like threads in a spider's web. Next to it hangs a map of India, similarly marked with dots and annotations, suggesting a parallel story—a link between the two regions. Torn pages from books are scattered and pinned around the maps. Some display illustrations of artifacts; others feature underlined paragraphs in an ancient language or obscure diagrams.
But it is the whiteboard, positioned prominently opposite the wall of screens, that truly captures her attention.
It is divided into three sections, organized with an almost obsessive precision. The first section is the most recent, dated just a few days ago. Photos are pinned to it, clearly taken in secret. Maya immediately recognizes the faces of the current participants, including her own. The sight of her own portrait, frozen in a moment when she hadn't realized she was being watched, sends a chill through her. Beneath each photo are annotations in small, neat handwriting: age, profession, distinctive trait. Her knees feel weak as she notices what is written under her image: potential partially exploited.
The second section is dated three months earlier. The photos depict another group of people, most of them strangers to her. Every face is crossed out with a red X, and beneath each image is the same annotation: Session 2: inconclusive. The clinical detachment of those words makes her stomach churn.
Finally, her eyes are drawn to the third section, even older. This one is dated six months ago and displays yet another group. Once again, red Xs cross out the photos, and the same words repeat: Session 1: inconclusive.
Maya's breath catches as she recognizes a familiar face among the participants of the first session. Annie. Annie, marked with a red X like all the others.
Maya steps forward mechanically, her heart pounding. Her trembling hand reaches out to touch the photo, as if to confirm that she isn't hallucinating. It's unmistakably her. Annie's features, her shy smile…
A wave of dizziness washes over her, and she stumbles, barely catching the edge of the whiteboard to keep from collapsing. A storm brews within her, a painful mix of searing grief and simmering rage. Annie was here—a victim of Phoenix and their monstrous experiments. Had they driven her to take her own life?
Ashford. She exulted as she explained how the patients' aftereffects from the first seminar perfectly concealed the true horrors they had endured. This calculated cruelty, this icy hypocrisy, makes Maya want to scream. The thought of letting Hugo deal with Ashford and her cronies suddenly feels oddly appealing.
A flash of red catches her eye. Maya freezes, her breath hitching, her body stiffening as though some instinct commands her to remain still. At the far end of the room, the woman in red stands motionless and imposing, her face still hidden beneath that oppressive veil. This time, Maya does not look away, does not tremble. She stays focused, resolute, her heart racing but free of genuine fear. She's ready to accept any help she can get, no matter its source. With a slight, determined nod, she silently addresses the apparition: "Show me."
The woman in red tilts her head slightly, as if answering the unspoken invitation. Slowly, she extends a spectral finger, long and delicate, toward the computer where Jenks is still working. The inspector clicks frantically, moving from page to page, trying to establish a connection to call for reinforcements.
The screen flickers. A wave of static interference ripples across the display, and a heavy, oppressive energy fills the room. Jenks quickly pulls his hands back from the keyboard, frowning. The computer screen abruptly distorts, riddled with digital static, its images flickering as if the machine is overwhelmed.
"What the…?"
Maya steps forward quickly, reaching a hand toward him.
"Wait… don't touch anything."
The screen continues to tremble, and then, as though guided by an invisible force, dozens of videos of Jimmy open simultaneously. The windows blink and overlap, creating visual and auditory chaos. Voices intertwine in an oppressive maelstrom, some shrill and piercing, others deep, rumbling, almost inhuman.
The noise is deafening—a cacophony of desynchronized, discordant sounds. Then, amidst the tumult, something catches Maya's attention. A pattern. An intention. Phrases emerge from the chaos, carried by varied but recognizable tones: words, fragments, sometimes distinct, sometimes overlapping with others.
Jenks steps back further, his eyes glued to the screen as the images of Jimmy flash by in a frenzy. The voices emerging from the chaos grow more urgent, more pleading. Maya, standing beside him, feels a chill ripple through her entire body. These aren't random noises. They're messages.
"Don't bring anyone else here..." murmurs a muffled, low, rumbling voice, almost like a whispered warning close to the ear.
Another voice, high-pitched and trembling, takes over.
"If more people come, he'll use them... to escape."
The two voices overlap as others rise, varied tones forming a spectral chorus emerging from the chaos.
"He'll vanish..."
"He'll hurt more people, so many more..."
"He'll never let go of Jimmy!"
"Jimmy will be lost… forever!"
Maya feels a dull ache settle in her chest. She stares at the screen intently. A soft yet desperate feminine voice then floats above the others.
"You must go back to the past..."
"Find his name… His name!"
"Break the place where he hides!"
"We'll help you! We'll tell you!"
"Seek us! Find us!"
"Free us all!"
"You must help us... Help us!"
Maya feels an invisible pressure, as if the spirits themselves are reaching out from the screen to grasp her hand.
"Please… help us..."
The chaos on the screen peaks. The images suddenly stop, leaving a single, frozen video: Jimmy, sitting in a dark room with his head bowed. The whispers merge into a collective sigh, heavy with despair, before fading into an oppressive silence.
Jenks and Maya remain silent for a long moment, staring at the blackened screen. The inspector tries to reboot it, but nothing works. Slowly, he turns toward Maya, his face stoic but betraying a flicker of confusion and unease.
"Well … I didn't have time to send my message so … I guess that's all the help we'll get for now... great…"
His eyes lock on hers with an almost hesitant intensity, as though he fears the words he's about to say. He runs a hand over his chin, clearly trying to gather his thoughts.
"Since you're probably… the most qualified between the two of us on this matter," he begins, pausing with a sigh, "and I can't believe I'm about to say this, but…"
He pauses, his hand still raised in an uncertain gesture, before finally asking:
"Do you have any idea… how to help ghosts?"
Maya remains silent for a moment, her arms crossed, her eyes staring into the void as she processes the question. Her thoughts race, but an odd sense of resolve gradually quiets the turmoil within her. She takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders.
"I think I do."