Days blurred into each other as Elise spiraled deeper into the case. The messages, the cryptic letters, the strange encounters—they had all become a part of her life now. There was no escaping it. She was consumed by the hunt, her every waking moment filled with the need to uncover the truth.
But with each step forward, the line between reality and madness blurred further.
Her apartment had become a prison. The walls seemed to close in on her as the walls of evidence and notes grew higher. Elise couldn't remember the last time she had left her place. There was no reason to, not when every lead brought her further into the darkness.
She had tried to reach out to Greg, but his messages had become infrequent, distant. And when he did respond, it was always brief, curt. He was pulling away from her, just like everyone else. Everyone she had ever trusted had abandoned her, one by one.
And yet, Elise felt she was nearing something. Something monumental. She didn't know what it was, but it was closer than ever before.
One night, she found herself standing in front of the Rutherford house once again. The place that had become both her obsession and her curse. The memories of that first visit, the unease she had felt, flooded back to her.
Without thinking, she stepped inside.
The house was still empty. Abandoned. But the silence felt different tonight. It was charged, as if the very air itself was watching her.
"Elise," a voice called from the shadows.
She froze, heart pounding in her chest. There, in the dark, stood the figure from her dreams—Mia. Or what remained of her.