The truth had always been elusive, slipping through her fingers like smoke, just beyond her reach. But now, standing in her apartment with Greg, Elise felt like the walls were closing in around her, the air thick with the weight of impending revelation.
"Tell me," she whispered, her breath catching in her throat.
Greg reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, worn notebook. He handed it to her without a word. Elise's fingers trembled as she opened the pages. The handwriting was familiar—almost too familiar. It was her own.
"This is your journal," Greg said quietly. "The one you've been writing in for years. You've forgotten about it, but it's been part of everything. The clues, the pieces of the puzzle, all written by your hand."
Elise's pulse quickened as she flipped through the pages, each entry more disturbing than the last. There were notes, sketches, strange symbols, and references to people she didn't remember. But they were all tied to the same thread—the darkness that had been slowly creeping into her life, consuming her from the inside out.
"No," she whispered, her voice breaking. "This can't be real."
"It's real, Elise," Greg replied softly. "This is your past. And now, it's time to face it."
The final reckoning had come, and there was no turning back. The web had been spun around her, and she had been its center all along.