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Jenks reaches the double doors of the kitchen first. He pushes them open carefully, taking time to inspect the interior before signaling Maya to enter. None of the security lights have come on here since the blackout, plunging the room into a thick and oppressive darkness. The young woman switches on her flashlight, its beam revealing the outlines of the countertops and storage.

She moves slowly, scrutinizing every shadow, staying alert for signs of a spirit's presence: the air growing cold, flickering lights, strange sounds like echoes. Jenks, on his part, approaches a counter where a forgotten kettle and some cups rest. He picks up a small sachet containing dried herbs and opens it, breathing deeply. His features immediately relax, and he murmurs in a victorious tone.

"I knew it!"

"What is it?" Maya raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Salvia divinorum," he replies, holding the sachet in front of him like irrefutable proof. "Also known as magic mint or seer's sage. Its leaves can induce a dissociative state and cause hallucinations."

Maya steps back slightly, a gasp of disgust escaping her lips.

"This is what they made us drink?!"

"I'm afraid so. I recognized the smell. I guess it's what allowed Ashford to put the others into some kind of trance... to facilitate the... spirit things...?"

He hesitates, searching for his words, uncomfortable with what he's having to say out loud.

"I'm sorry, I'm still having a bit of trouble putting all this into words."

Maya gives him a smile, understanding his unease, but their exchange is abruptly interrupted. The flashlight begins to flicker, casting jittery bursts of light onto the walls. Then the young woman hears a sob, faint but clear, somewhere in the room. She freezes, searching for the source of the sound.

"What's happening?" Jenks asks, alarmed.

"Don't you hear it?"

"I don't hear anything."

Maya knows what this means. Taking a deep breath to gather her courage, she moves slowly toward the source of the sound. The sob seems to come from behind a countertop. Her steps are light, cautious, as the sobs become more distinct, more heartbreaking. She rounds the counter, her flashlight nervously sweeping the darkness. But the moment she reaches the other side, her light goes out abruptly, plunging her into total darkness. The sobs turn into a muffled scream, so close that she feels her heart race.

Her flashlight snaps back on suddenly, emitting a blinding flash. The next moment, Maya sees a door slowly creak open farther into the room, casting a rectangle of light onto the floor. A young woman steps through, slightly younger than Maya, though her clothing and posture make her seem older, as if she belongs to another era. She wears a deep green dress adorned with small daisy patterns. Over it, she has a fitted brown jacket cinched at the waist, adding a touch of sophistication—a perfect blend of simplicity and elegance. Her hair is styled impeccably, with the precision of years of habit, reminiscent of a time when flawless grooming was a daily imperative.

In each hand, she carries a suitcase, which she places delicately on the floor with a muffled thud. Then, she turns to speak to someone Maya cannot see, whose presence she cannot even sense. Everything unfolds in an eerie, almost surreal silence.

"Thank you for welcoming me, Mrs. Hall," the young woman says, her voice soft yet confident, resonating in the quiet room. "I know your advertisement mentioned you were looking for someone a bit older, but I helped my mother raise all my siblings after my father died. You can trust me, ma'am. You won't be disappointed."

Maya remains frozen in place, watching the young woman, who seems entirely unaware of her presence. Then, without another word, the young woman gently closes the door behind her. Instantly, Maya finds herself plunged back into total darkness, the kitchen's shadows swallowing the space around her.

The silence becomes heavy, oppressive. A faint sound to her right catches her attention. She turns her head, her heartbeat quickening, and suddenly finds herself face-to-face with … Camille! Or more precisely, face-to-face with the white mask she still wears.

Still clad in her blood-stained nightgown, barefoot on the cold tiles, she seems impervious to the chill. The mask, inscrutable and cold, hides her features.

Inspector Jenks remains frozen, his eyes locked on the young girl, seemingly unsure how to react to what's unfolding before him. Maya knows he hasn't seen or heard the vision that just played out. It is her privilege—and her burden—to be the sole witness.

"And now?" he murmurs, his voice betraying a hint of tension.

Maya, her hands trembling slightly, gathers her courage. She has done this before, though with a spirit box. Tonight's exercise, however, feels different—more urgent… and more dangerous.

She takes a deep breath, then fixes her gaze on the darkness she senses through the mask's hollow eyes.

"Is it Sara?"

The young girl nods slowly.

"Yes, it's me."

"Incredible..." murmurs Jenks, his mouth slightly ajar.

After a moment of genuine surprise, he gestures for Maya to continue while reaching into his jacket. He quickly pulls out his small black notebook and a pen, ready to jot down every word. Maya keeps her focus on the spirit standing before her.

"How old are you?"

"I'm sixteen."

"I saw you in the kitchen. You were speaking to someone. Who was it?" she asks gently, trying to establish a clear connection.

The spirit hesitates for a moment before replying in a distant, almost mechanical voice.

"Mrs. Hall, the owner of the place. She was looking for a governess to care for her 8-year-old daughter and her baby son. I desperately needed the money, and it was a good house, despite the rumors about Mr. Hall."

Maya glances at Jenks, who is writing furiously, his fingers flying over the paper as if afraid he might miss a word. It's clear he's treating this interaction like an interrogation, but the supernatural circumstances lend an otherworldly air to his professional habit.

She quickly considers how to proceed. A memory surfaces—what she had seen between Ashford and Sara in Camille's room. The ghost had mentioned she lived in 1947.

"When you say there were rumors about Mr. Hall, does it have anything to do with the Second World War?" she asks, her voice measured.

"Yes. The Hall family has long lived between England and India. When the Second World War intensified, Mr. Hall senior ordered the whole family to retire to their home in Shimla. Unfortunately, they also had a front-row seat to nationalist movements. Mr. Hall junior came back... changed," the spirit replies, and a wave of dizziness suddenly washes over Maya.

Images flood her mind: a black-and-white portrait of a man with a nasty scar all along the cheek, then a vision of a dark hallway upstairs. The images vanish as quickly as they came, but the unease lingers. She quickly turns to Jenks, her eyes still haunted by the vision.

"Inspector, have you checked the rooms upstairs?"

"Not as much as I'd hoped... why?" Jenks frowns, clearly intrigued.

"Simon claimed there were lots of old things in his room. Did you see a framed photo of a man with a scar all along the cheek?"

Jenks thinks hard, his eyes narrowing with effort. Finally, he shakes his head.

"No, doesn't ring a bell. Maybe in one of the other rooms?"

Maya nods, her mind already piecing together a possible path.

"Maybe she'd know where…"

She turns to Camille, still frozen behind her white mask. The image of the young girl, manipulated like a puppet, continues to unsettle her.

"Show us..."

To her surprise, Camille's body starts to move. Her movements are strange, awkward, as if she's struggling to control her body. She advances slowly and hesitantly, her limbs appearing both too heavy and too light at the same time. Maya and Jenks exchange a glance before following the spectral figure, ready to see where she leads them.

"Why not keep questioning her here?" Jenks asks, puzzled.

Maya casts him a glance, noting his expression of intense concentration.

"Talking to a spirit isn't like talking to a living person. Most of the time, they're stuck in memories or emotions, often tied to an object or a specific place. It's like they're replaying key moments over and over. If you strike the right chord, you can get a clear response, something useful. But if you handle it poorly, you might lose them. They either won't know what to say or simply won't answer anymore."

Jenks nods slowly, his eyes locked on hers as though weighing every word.

"So, it's about knowing exactly what to ask and how to ask it," he murmurs, his voice low.

"Exactly," Maya replies. "And you have to stay alert. Every detail matters."

"That, I can do. But tell me, can spirits lie?" Jenks asks, his voice dropping to a whisper in the soft echo of the corridor.

Maya slows slightly, surprised by the question. She's never really thought about it before. After a second, she shakes her head while keeping an eye on Camille, who continues to move ahead of them with her awkward, sleepwalker-like gait. Maya listens intently for any sound, ready to alert Jenks if they're no longer alone.

"I don't think they can."

"Why are you so sure of that?" Jenks leans toward her slightly, intrigued.

"I believe... what they want is to tell their story. What they experienced, how they died, and especially why. Lying wouldn't serve them—it would even be counterproductive, wouldn't it?"

Jenks ponders her words, his brows furrowed.

"Hmm, I suppose you're right. If I were killed, my priority would probably be to expose my killer," he pauses, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "You've got a rare gift, Maya, really."

Maya lowers her gaze, her shoulders slumping slightly, as though the words weigh heavily on her.

"I'm not sure it's a gift," she murmurs, her voice tinged with fatigue and sadness.

Jenks watches her for a moment but doesn't press further. They move in silence, as stealthily as possible, while Camille leads them toward the service staircase, her body eerily mechanical.

As Camille continues down the long corridor, her movements strange and floating, the sound of footsteps suddenly echoes behind them. Jenks reacts instantly, pressing Maya and himself against the wall at the corner of the hallway. His arm extends in front of Maya, acting like a protective seatbelt, as he holds his breath, tense like a coiled spring.

From the other end of the corridor, voices can be heard, muffled but clearly audible.

"It's fine, Bob," announces Jeffrey's voice, slightly breathless. "It's just one of them. Hurry up... do you have the key to Elisabeth's room?"

"Yeah... are you sure that's where she stashed the gun?"

"Positive. She didn't want one of the idiots to stumble on it by accident. We grab it, and we'll flush out the other psycho."

"The boss wants him alive," Robert objects, his voice low and gruff.

"I'll aim for the legs. Now, let's move."

Still pressed against the wall, Jenks peeks quickly around the corner of the hallway as their footsteps grow distant. He waits a moment longer, straining to ensure they're truly gone, before signaling to Maya that the coast is clear.

"Just great: a firearm in the mix," he mutters irritably as he straightens. "We'd better hurry before this spirals out of control."

Maya follows, her brows furrowed. A thought suddenly strikes her.

"You didn't bring your service weapon?"

Jenks shakes his head, a shadow of regret flickering in his eyes.

"I couldn't take that risk. Ashford would have gotten suspicious. I'm almost certain our belongings were thoroughly searched," he pauses, glancing warily around them. "Come on, we need to keep moving."

A short distance ahead, Camille stands motionless in front of a door. The white mask seems to be staring at the handle with an odd intensity, as though the girl doesn't know how to open it. Jenks and Maya quickly catch up to her, throwing nervous glances over their shoulders.

Jenks places a firm but cautious hand on the doorknob while Maya keeps an eye on Camille. They enter the dim room swiftly, closing the door carefully behind them, their movements both quiet and deliberate.

The room appears far more spacious than any Maya has explored so far. The walls are adorned with dark wood paneling, and the slightly higher ceiling gives the space a solemn air. It's immediately clear that Ashford, Robert, and Jeffrey had claimed the most prestigious rooms, far removed from the guests.

Jenks gets to work right away, methodically rifling through the scattered belongings in the room. Neatly folded clothes, a few books on psychology, and personal items confirm that this is one of the two assistants' rooms. Meanwhile, Maya busies herself as well, opening drawers and suitcases, but her attention is drawn to Camille.

The young girl has moved to the mirror, her white mask still fixed on her face. She stands there, motionless, gazing at her reflection. Maya pauses, her heart tightening at the sight. What does she see in the mirror? The blank, expressionless mask or the tormented face of Sara, trapped in this strange state? The thought weighs heavily on Maya, and she averts her eyes, deciding to refocus on her search.

Above the fireplace, a collection of relics from another time catches her attention. A black-and-white portrait takes center stage, depicting an elegant man with a bad scar on his cheek. His hard features and rigid posture speak of a bygone era. Beside it, bneath a glass dome, protected from dust, rests an antique camera marked Kodak Brownie Reflex. The camera's two black lenses seem to stare at Maya like dark, enigmatic eyes. A shiver runs down her spine as she feels the weight of its empty gaze.

Suddenly, the flickering light of the backup bedside lamp begins to pulse, casting jittery shadows across the room's walls. Maya shivers as an icy draft sweeps through the room. She spins around abruptly, her heart racing, as the light flickers one last time and plunges the room into oppressive darkness.

When the light returns, Jenks is no longer there. In his place, Maya sees Sara entering the room. The young woman looks panicked, her movements frantic and disorganized.

"Young Miss Agatha! There you are at last!" she exclaims, her voice trembling with a mix of relief and reproach. "I've been searching for you for hours! What are you doing in your father's room? You know he doesn't like—"

Sara abruptly stops mid-sentence, whirling toward the room's entrance, her eyes wide as if she has sensed a presence. She tilts her head slightly, hesitant, before adopting a more respectful posture.

"Oh, Mr. Hall… excuse me. Agatha managed to sneak in here, and…" Her voice softens, almost timid. "Oh, that's very kind of you, sir."

A slight blush rises to Sara's cheeks, and a shy smile lights up her face. She lowers her gaze slightly, clearly flattered by something Maya cannot see or hear.

"I… I'll take her outside to play so she won't bother you… Thank you… Yes, later, sir," she murmurs before turning and walking away, her figure fading into the shadows.

The light flickers again, then snaps back on, pulling Maya back to reality. Sara is gone, and Jenks is back, crouched near the coffee table. He's rummaging through a drawer, looking up, startled to see Maya staring at him intently.

"Everything alright?" he asks, frowning.

To him, only a few seconds have passed. Maya takes a deep breath, her mind still caught in the vision.

"Any leads?" he inquires, intrigued by her expression.

"I think so…"

She turns to Camille, who remains motionless in front of the mirror. The girl in the white mask seems strangely calm, as though waiting. Maya approaches slowly, hesitant to reach out. She doesn't dare touch her, fearing she might disturb the fragile balance.

"Sara?"

Camille turns her head slowly, the blank and impassive face of the mask fixing on her.

"I am Sara, yes," she responds, her tone devoid of emotion.

"I saw you speaking with Mr. Hall. What were you doing?"

Sara tilts her head slightly, as though searching her memories. Her voice, though calm, carries a resigned sadness.

"I was instructed never to disturb Mr. Hall. Since his return from India, he had withdrawn into himself. Both of his parents died in a car accident and he himself was partially disfigured. I think he was ashamed of it, thought it made him less valuable or deserving. He didn't tolerate noise or interruptions. He rarely left his room or the library, except to spend his days alone in the park. He ate separately and slept in a different bedroom, far from his wife. Being close to her seemed unbearable for him."

Her voice softens, becoming almost protective.

"But Agatha… she wanted to be close to her father. So, she would often sneak into his room. One day, Mr. Hall caught us. I thought he would be angry. But no. He was perfectly charming. It was the first time I truly saw him."

Maya notices a faint smile touch the lips hidden behind the mask.

"What did he say to you?" she asks gently.

"He complimented me. He said I was very beautiful. And then he added… that I would make a stunning model."

"A model?" Jenks, who has been silent until now, raises an eyebrow at Maya, perplexed.

"Maybe he was some kind of artist?"

Maya thinks for a moment, a thought surfacing like an intuition. Her gaze instinctively drifts to the fireplace, where the antique camera rests under a glass dome.

"The camera… Who did it belong to?"

"To Mr. Hall. Photography was more than a hobby for him—it was a true passion. After the war, it seemed like it was the only thing he lived for. It was a gift from Mrs. Hall. She had given him that Kodak Brownie Reflex the year before. One of the earliest models made in Britain. Perhaps she hoped that this passion might help him find some peace—or maybe it was her way of reconnecting with him."

Jenks exchanges a look with Maya, his curiosity piqued.

"A passion… or an obsession?"

Maya nods at Jenks's remark, but her focus remains on Sara. She chooses her words carefully, knowing that even the smallest misstep could shatter the fragile connection.

"When you said that Mr. Hall thought you would make a stunning model, does that have something to do with his passion for photography?"

Sara tilts her head slightly, the mask seeming to catch the flickering light from the bedside lamp. A heavy, loaded pause settles before she finally responds.

"Yes. He often said that photography revealed hidden nature—the side others couldn't see. He asked me, very politely, if I would pose for him. I was flattered, of course. He had a way of speaking… so different, so respectful."

"And did you agree?"

Sara remains motionless, the silence stretching like an echo of difficult memories.

"At first, yes," she finally admits. "I thought it would be innocent. He took photos in the garden, near the rose bushes. He said natural light brought out the purity of one's features. His passion was almost contagious."

Maya exchanges a quick glance with Jenks, who is scribbling notes feverishly in his notebook, before returning her attention to Sara.

"But then?"

"Then… he wanted me to pose in more private settings. In the library. Then in his bedroom. He said it was to explore contrasts. Shadows and light. Innocence and maturity."

Maya feels a growing tension, a creeping discomfort settling over her. She fears she knows where this is heading. Jenks abruptly stops the dance of his pen on the paper. His brow furrows, and he casts a worried glance at Maya. His voice is low, almost hesitant.

"If you don't want to continue, we could try speaking with another participant. There's no need for you to… to endure this."

Maya shakes her head, sitting up slightly straighter. Her expression is resolute, though a shadow of fatigue weighs on her eyes.

"I'll be fine, Inspector. Believe me… this isn't the worst I've heard… or seen. And we don't know how much longer she'll be able to communicate with us. We have to get as much as we can while we still can."

The image of little Amy's body lying at the bottom of the stairs, bathed in her own blood, flashes briefly in her mind before she forces it away. She takes a deep breath, refocusing on Sara. Her voice softens, laced with cautious curiosity.

"Sara… what kind of photography did Mr. Hall take of you?"

The white mask tilts slightly, as if Sara is carefully weighing her words before answering.

"Erotic photography," she finally says, her tone neutral, contrasting with the heaviness of her admission. "He met french artists visiting India who specialized in it. He said it was a form of art… a way to capture raw beauty, unfiltered."

Maya notices Jenks grip his pen a little tighter, but he remains silent, allowing Sara to continue.

"He was fascinated by the gaze of his models. He always said their power lay in their eyes. Not just in their bodies, but in the intensity of their gaze. He claimed that was what he wanted to capture… their soul, through his lens. But then he started asking for… different things. Bad things."

A heavy, uncomfortable pause follows. Maya feels her stomach tighten. Once again, she is overwhelmed by a vision, blurry and distorted. A narrow corridor, hidden within the walls behind mirrors. A sinister red light seeps through a partially open door. A silhouette stands motionless just behind it, but its outlines are indistinct, as if cloaked in a veil of shadow.

Then, without warning, a searing pain tears through her skull, so intense that for a moment, she thinks she might collapse. She falls to her knees, hands pressed tightly against her head, her breath short and ragged. The light flickers, pulsing in sync with the throbbing pain. When it stabilizes, she finds herself curled up on the floor, Jenks kneeling beside her, his face etched with alarm.

"Maya! What's happening to you?!"

She breathes heavily, each word an immense effort.

"Another... vision... but... this one was different..."

With Jenks's help, she slowly sits up on the edge of the bed, trying to regain her composure. He watches her anxiously. A few steps away, Camille remains perfectly still, her white mask fixed on an indefinite point, seemingly unaffected by the scene.

"I've felt this before… at the Sea View Hotel. Some visions were more violent than others. They seemed to have one common thread: Hugo Hall. Jimmy's father."

Jenks narrows his eyes, a mix of intrigue and unease on his face. Maya clenches her trembling hands, trying to steady them.

"He used to beat Jimmy… horribly. Fits of uncontrollable violence. That's why Rose ended up killing him. It was the only way she could protect her son."

Jenks nods slowly, his expression a blend of sadness and anger.

"Even without demons or spirits… going through that at such a young age… it's enough to break anyone," he hesitates before asking, "Would the entity prevent you to see it?"

Maya shakes her head, running a hand over her face.

"Maybe. But I saw something interesting anyway… I think."

She pulls the magnetic key from her pocket and approaches the mirror. Casting a quick glance at Jenks, her expression firm with resolve, she speaks.

"Come on. We need to bring Sara with us into—"

Suddenly, the steady sound of footsteps echoes in the hallway, approaching the door quickly. Jenks reacts instinctively, guiding Camille toward the opening inside the wall. Maya follows swiftly, ready to close the way behind them, pulling the mirror into place. But she's too slow.

The door bursts open, and Hugo steps in, his eyes gleaming with a malevolent light. He freezes for a moment, locking eyes with Maya. His smile widens into a twisted, sinister expression, so unnerving it feels as though her heart turns to liquid. A coldness washes over her entire body, as if the very air has been sucked from her lungs.

"Well, well, look who we have here..."