For two weeks, it had been remarkably quiet, as if nothing were going to happen. Sara knew it was only a matter of time before the General would strike unexpectedly. He was planning something, and they were all waiting in readiness to defend themselves.
Sara feared the man even more now, after her grandmother had introduced her to the past. She finally understood why he was so desperate to find her and Julia. They were connected to women who had caused great trouble in the past. Those women had hidden something valuable, and the General was determined to retrieve it. He needed Sara and Julia because he believed they knew the location of the object. But why had he suddenly gone quiet? If he wanted to get Sara, he could have done it at any moment. So what was he planning? That was what scared her the most—this silence, this eerie calm, as though he were preparing to do something truly cruel. The very thought gave her chills.
She had Alan, who had promised to protect her, but she couldn't rely on him alone. He would be just as vulnerable in an emergency. They were dealing with mentally unstable people who had kept only a few individuals inside the center. Among them were those directly connected to the events of the past, as well as a handful of other students. She didn't know why the others hadn't been released, but she speculated that they, too, might be descendants of people who had once ruined the General's life. Although that seemed unrealistic—how would he even know their lineage?—it was different in her and Julia's case. He had been looking for them at all costs.
Or perhaps he had chosen his victims randomly from the student population to create a false appearance? After all, most of the youth who were deemed fit to return home by the psychologist had already left the center.
That seemed the most plausible to her.
For the first time in her life, she hated Christmas. Although she had not enjoyed it for years due to the tense atmosphere at home, she had always faced it with indifference. She no longer found joy in gifts or family gatherings. Ever since her mother's death, everything had changed—including her father.
But this year was the worst. Her father had merely called the director to pass on his wishes. He hadn't even asked to speak to his daughter. He didn't care enough to hear her voice. Sara suspected that the director wouldn't have let her take the call anyway. He would've fabricated some plausible excuse, as he had for other students whose parents had tried to contact them directly.
Oliver had been sitting in the office and had clearly heard everything.
No one was safe here.
Her relationship with Alan had begun to intensify. He remained by her side, afraid something bad might happen at any moment. He tried to protect her, and because of that, she increasingly dismissed the fear that he might turn out like his grandfather. They were clearly different, and even the resemblance she had once noticed in their youthful features no longer convinced her otherwise. Alan was different. She trusted him. He was the only one who could protect her.
Oliver wasn't pleased with her trust in Alan and kept urging her to stay away from him, but she ignored his warnings. Laura claimed Oliver was just jealous and trying to drive a wedge between her and her boyfriend—and Sara believed it.
Things had started to calm down between Laura and Simon. Laura had finally apologized to him for the coldness with which she had treated him. Though they talked again, Sara could see that Simon still held a grudge. Nevertheless, he tried to stay close, offering his protection as best he could during the tense times in the center.
*
The first snow had fallen. Sara stood in front of the building. Wrapped in a thick sweater and a wool scarf, she watched white flakes drift down from the sky. It was the only thing that brought her joy that morning. Not Christmas—but snow. That was her favorite part of winter. While others waited all year for Christmas Eve or New Year's Eve, she had always been different.
She sighed deeply and crossed her arms, rubbing them for warmth. She had gotten cold, but she didn't want to go back inside just yet. Out here, watching the snow, she could forget—if only for a moment—what was happening inside the center.
She wished she could close her eyes and wake up from this nightmare, but the only thing grounding her was Alan. If he turned out to be nothing more than an illusion—if she had never truly met him—she wouldn't survive it. He was her strongest support here. And after him, her friends.
He wanted to protect them, but what could he really do? Nothing—except wait for the enemy to make a move and defend himself when the time came.
"Why are you out here alone? I told you to stay with someone," she heard Alan say behind her, his voice laced with concern. He removed his jacket and placed it over her shoulders. "And dress warmer when you go outside. You could catch a cold easily this time of year," he added, wrapping his arms around her from behind. He rested his chin on her shoulder.
She smiled. She loved it when he did that. It made her feel safe—like he truly cared.
"I'll be fine."
"Still, I insist," he whispered just beside her ear, and she smiled again at the pleasant tickle of his breath. "You're not going to argue with me, are you? Especially when I'm seriously worried about you."
"All right. I'll do it for you," she said softly as he kissed her cheek. He held her tighter, and she placed her hands over his.
"Merry Christmas. I wish my grandchildren lots of health—after all, that's the most important thing, isn't it?" came a voice that made her freeze.
She turned and saw the General standing in front of the stairs.
"Grandchildren?" Alan repeated, stepping away from her, eyes locked on the General.
"Why not? I can already call Sara that, can't I? Unless you're not planning a wedding anytime soon," he chuckled bitterly as he climbed the stairs toward the entrance. "Though I'm worried your child might not be born healthy. You know… being psychic means there's something not quite right in the head," he said, tapping his temple mockingly. Sara's eyes widened. Rage boiled inside her.
"I'm not the one bullying and murdering innocent people. If anyone has serious mental problems, it's you. You should report to your nephew for treatment!" she shouted, trembling. Alan placed his hands on her shoulders, trying to calm her, but her fury had overtaken her.
Why should she stay silent? This man was planning something anyway—she was in danger no matter what.
"I'm not your grandson, so don't you dare call Sara that. And don't insult her," Alan said firmly. "You're the abnormal one here."
"I admire your spirit, but watch your tone," the General warned him.
Alan let out a dry laugh.
Sara noticed the General's eyelid twitch. He was angry—furious that his grandson was defying him.
"Respect? Please. I've got more respect for a stray dog than for you," Alan retorted boldly, though the smile vanished from his face when the General raised a hand toward him. Alan slapped it away.
Sara tensed, watching Alan's face. He was quick to anger, and she feared what he might do. She could see it in his eyes—he was about to lose control. She couldn't let that happen. He had already killed once, even if it had been to protect a friend. She didn't want her boyfriend to become a monster. The ghosts couldn't be right.
"Let's go back inside, please," she whispered, grabbing Alan's hand. He stared at the General a moment longer, hostility clear in his eyes, but then glanced at Sara's frightened face.
His expression softened. She sighed with relief.
"Yes, go back in. Sara's so tiny—she'll catch a cold quickly. Take good care of her. In our family, men take care of their women," the General said with a false smile. Sara gripped Alan's hand tighter. "Enjoy the holidays. Spend time together as if every moment were your last. You never know what might happen."
His words sent a shiver down her spine. They sounded like a threat—like a warning to cherish what little time they had left.
"Exactly. At your age, you never know when death might knock at the door. You'd better be ready for it, old man," Alan muttered.
The General had been planning something for a long time. This stillness was merely the calm before the storm.
*
The group gathered in one of the common rooms, hoping for a brief escape from the heavy atmosphere that weighed down on them every day. Laura had somehow managed to sneak in a bottle of cheap vodka, stolen from the director's office during her cleaning duty. She proudly placed it on the table, like a magician revealing a forbidden treasure.
"Let's have some fun. I'm sick of feeling like I'm about to be executed," she said, already searching for plastic cups. She found five, a mismatched set, and began pouring.
Sara hesitated. She had never drunk before—never even tasted alcohol. It wasn't because she had been strictly raised. In fact, after her mother's death, no one at home had paid much attention to her behavior. It was more that she had never felt the need to lose control.
She looked around at the others: Simon sat cross-legged on the couch, tired but curious. Oliver leaned against the wall, arms crossed, already eyeing Laura with annoyance. Alan sat beside her, his expression unreadable.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Sara asked.
"Of course not," Laura replied, grinning. "But neither is waiting around for that lunatic to show up and kill us. So bottoms up."
Simon chuckled. "To death, then?"
"To rebellion," Laura corrected, raising her cup. "May we die drunk and laughing."
They all took a sip. Sara coughed at the burning taste and winced.
"Not a fan?" Alan asked with a half-smile.
"It's disgusting," she admitted.
"You'll get used to it," Laura said, already filling her cup again.
For a few moments, it almost felt like they were ordinary teenagers, hanging out at a party. The weight of their situation began to fade. Sara felt the warmth spread through her chest, the tight knot of fear loosening slightly.
"Let's play a game," Laura suggested. "Truth or dare?"
"Oh God, here we go," Simon muttered.
"Don't be such a bore," she said. "We might not get another night like this."
Oliver didn't say a word. He was watching Alan, and Sara noticed.
"Something on your mind?" she asked him.
Oliver finally spoke. "I'm just wondering how many people Alan has to kill before you stop trusting him."
The room went still. Sara's chest tightened.
"That's not fair," Laura snapped.
"Isn't it?" Oliver replied, his voice cold. "He beat someone to death. Just because he says it was self-defense doesn't mean it wasn't murder."
Alan didn't move. He stared straight ahead, jaw clenched.
"Oliver," Sara said quietly. "Drop it."
"No," he said. "She should know what kind of person he really is. Before it's too late."
"I know exactly who he is," she said, standing up. "And I trust him. More than I trust you."
Oliver let out a bitter laugh. "That's because he's good at pretending. But he doesn't care about any of us. Not really."
"Then why is he the only one who's been trying to protect us?" Laura asked.
"Because he's trying to make up for what he did," Oliver shot back. "That doesn't make him a hero. It makes him guilty."
Alan stood slowly. "If you have a problem with me, say it directly."
Oliver met his gaze. "I already did."
The tension between them crackled. Sara stepped between them, placing a hand on Alan's chest.
"Please," she whispered. "Don't."
Alan looked at her for a long moment, then stepped back. Oliver scoffed and turned to leave.
"Go on," Laura called after him. "Run away like always."
"I'm saving you from yourselves," he muttered before slamming the door.
Silence fell. Laura poured another drink.
"Well," she said, raising her cup, "cheers to dysfunctional families."
Sara sat down again, feeling the warmth of Alan's hand as he took hers.
"Are you okay?" he asked gently.
She nodded. "I just… I hate this place. I hate what it's doing to us."
"We'll get out," he promised. "I swear."
And in that moment, she believed him.
Even if the world outside no longer felt real. Even if all they had was this room, the vodka, and each other.
*
"Where are you taking me?" Sara asked, giggling under her breath.The hallway spun around her like a carousel, but it didn't matter. Happiness bubbled up inside her, unstoppable, silly, and sweet.
Alan stopped abruptly and pressed her gently against the wall. She liked that — a lot.He braced one hand above her head while the other stroked her cheek. Under his touch, she tilted her face toward him, nuzzling into his palm like a pampered kitten.
"I just wanted to spend more time with you. Somewhere far away from that jerk," he murmured, his gaze locked on hers.
She laughed, shaking her head in mock outrage.
"Oliver's my friend, so you're not allowed to call him that. Nope. Not allowed," she said, waving a finger in front of his face.
He caught her hand and smiled, his eyes twinkling. With his other arm, he pulled her in close, gripping her waist.
"Or has he started taking an interest in you?"She shook her head vigorously."Maybe you don't like me as much as you used to?"
She looped her arms around his neck, her voice soft and teasing.
"You're the only one I like."
He laughed, leaned in, and whispered in her ear:
"So I'm the only one?"
"Only you," she whispered back, shivering as his warm breath tickled her neck.
"Are you sure?"
"Not really," she said playfully, trying to provoke him. He drew back slightly, looking surprised, but then smirked — recognizing her game.
"Liar," he whispered. "Do I need to prove to you that you can't see anyone but me?"
She gasped as his lips brushed just beneath her ear. Everything inside her melted. Her body buzzed.
He kissed her again, slowly moving toward her earlobe.
"How about now?" he whispered.
She didn't answer. Instead, she cupped his face in both hands and kissed him softly on the lips. When she pulled back, he took over, sliding a hand to her waist and kissing her again — bolder this time. It wasn't a kiss of teenage innocence, but one of deep hunger, the kind of kiss usually reserved for late-night movies and adult fairy tales.
When it ended, her knees wobbled. Her mind spun.The alcohol had finally caught up to her.She was drunk.
"I think I've reached the point of no return," she said, amused by the dizzy rush.
"From my kiss or the booze?" he asked.She shrugged, clearly enjoying his confusion.
"Your kiss," she said quickly. "I'm not even drunk."
"Of course not," he said, wrapping an arm around her waist in case she collapsed."Come on. I'll take you to your room. You'll need rest if you want to survive tomorrow."
"I'm scared of that too. I've never had a hangover," she murmured, giggling as she stumbled along beside him.
"You know you won't be sleeping in your own bed tonight, right? Your roommate's probably partying until sunrise. And I'm not letting you sleep anywhere near that jerk," he said.
She raised her hand in celebration and shouted her approval.
He quickly clamped a hand over her mouth.
She took the opportunity to bite his finger.
"Mmm, they taste like snacks," she said wistfully. "I haven't had anything decent in ages."
In the facility, food had gotten worse lately — dry, tasteless, barely edible. The staff insisted they should be grateful they weren't starving.
"I'll take you to my room," Alan said. "You can rest there."
She didn't argue. Though drunk, she noticed something odd as they climbed the stairs. A shadow moved. Someone was watching them from the dark.At first, she thought it was a drunken hallucination — her vision was starting to triangulate — but eventually, she convinced herself it was just another ghost. Another shadow in the corridor.
Alan laid her on the bed and covered her with a blanket. She turned into the pillow and sighed.He sat beside her, stroking her hair until she drifted off, feeling safer than she had in weeks. Safer even than in her room with Laura.
Somewhere in the distance, someone knocked on the door.She heard Alan stand up and walk away.She turned to her side.The room fell silent again.
She didn't know how much time had passed when the loud crash woke her.
She opened her eyes.There was a figure standing by the bed.
Her first thought was: Alan's back.But the shape wasn't right.This person was shorter. Slimmer.
"So once again — happy holidays, Sara," said the voice, and her heart stopped.She recognized him immediately.
The General.
He stood at the bedside, eyes steely and cold.
She prayed this was a nightmare.
"Take her," he ordered his men.
Before she could protest, they were dragging her from the bed.
Her body was weak, her head throbbing.
But the worst pain wasn't physical — it was the shock.
The fear.
Where was Alan? Why wasn't he here?