Julie sat on the edge of the bed, still barefoot, wrapped in a blanket. The skin on her hands pulsed faintly, as if something inside her was still trying to move. The silence in the room was too thick. The shadows outside the window too deep.
She fell asleep—unconsciously. Sleep came uninvited.
She found herself in a place that looked like an empty church, or maybe a cathedral. Dark, twisted architecture, where stained glass windows depicted scenes of angels battling demons. In the middle stood only her—dressed in a white dress so delicate that every movement seemed as if it would crumble into petals.
And then she heard it.
"Julie."
The voice was gentle. Almost maternal.
Julie turned sharply, but no one was there.
"Julie… I warned you." This time the voice was closer. Sweeter. "They're using you. Jeremy isn't telling you everything. He's hiding the truth. Even from himself."
"Who are you?" Julie asked, but her voice trembled. It was thin, like a moth's wing.
"They call me Rosalie. But for you, I can be more. I once trusted others too. I thought love was salvation… but it was only a chain."
From the darkness emerged a girl. About eighteen years old. Tall, with a perfectly symmetrical face you couldn't look away from. Hair—black as night. Eyes—silver, hypnotizing.
"Jeremy is like his father. He thinks he can control everything. But that's not true. When his power awakens… he will destroy you. Just like Jack almost destroyed Alison."
Julie stepped back, but instead of the floor beneath her feet, she felt an abyss.
"Aren't you afraid? That it will happen again? That you will become his victim?"
"Stop…" Julie whispered.
Rosalie smiled sweetly. Innocently.
"I only want to help you. Open your eyes. Show you what will happen if you don't leave… before it's too late."
Suddenly, Julie felt cold at the nape of her neck. In the dream, all the stained-glass went dark, and the church began to crumble. Rosalie disappeared, leaving only these words behind:
"Break the connection… before it breaks you."
Julie woke up with a scream. The room was just as before—quiet. Empty. But she already knew. This was no ordinary dream.
It was an attack.
*
Jeremy sat on the floor of the old monastery, where preparations for the ritual were underway. He held his mother's diary in his hands without realizing it but couldn't focus on the words. Something had changed.
Something trembled in his blood.
He closed his eyes. Concentrated.
And then he felt it.
It wasn't pain. Rather... a crack. A subtle disturbance in the thread that connected him to Julie. Like someone had dragged a finger across a mirror's surface and distorted the reflection.
"Julie…" he whispered.
An image appeared—barely perceptible. A snapshot from her dream. Stone floor. Shadow. And… Rosalie. Standing too close to Julie, speaking too softly. Her presence was like a fog—weakening, treacherous, ominous.
Jeremy jumped to his feet.
"Henry!" he called out, his voice echoing off the walls. "Something's happening. She… She tried to reach Julie. In dreams. In her mind. I felt her. Rosalie."
The angel entered the room, tension written on his face.
"How strongly did you sense it?" he asked cautiously.
"It was like… like someone trying to cut a cord. The thread connecting us. Julie didn't say anything, but I know. And now… I'm afraid she might start doubting herself."
Henry frowned.
"Rosalie is clever. She doesn't need violence if she can plant a shadow in someone's heart. Doubt is a weapon."
"I need to see her." Jeremy reached for his jacket. "I have to make sure the connection still exists. That Rosalie hasn't penetrated too deeply."
Henry grabbed his arm.
"If you do this carelessly, Rosalie will feel you approaching. You have to enter cleanly. Not like a demon. Like someone Julie trusts completely."
Jeremy nodded. His eyes shone with a light he had never known before.
"In that case… I'll go as the boy who loves her."
*
Julie sat at the desk, staring at a blank sheet in her notebook. She felt as if the world had grown too quiet. Too still. Like suspended in tension she couldn't name.
She shivered, though she wasn't cold.
For days, she had felt something foreign inside her—as if a voice not her own was trying to find a way through a whisper. She hadn't told anyone. Not yet. She was afraid that saying it aloud would make it real.
So when someone knocked and then opened the door silently, she jumped.
Jeremy.
"Hey," he said gently, as if not wanting to scare something fragile. "I couldn't sleep. I thought maybe… you can't either."
Julie looked up. His presence brought relief—like a breath after too long underwater. But it also worried her. He knew. He felt something. She sensed it in his gaze.
"You okay?" he asked, approaching cautiously.
"I don't know," she answered honestly. "But now… it's better."
Jeremy sat on the floor, leaning back against the bed. He reached out to her silently. She took his hand almost instinctively.
For a moment there was silence. Between them. Between their thoughts. But it wasn't empty. It was full.
"Julie," he finally said softly, "whatever is happening, however it unfolds… you're not alone. Even if something follows you, touches you in dreams… I'm there too."
The girl looked at him with slight surprise.
"How do you…?"
"I just know," he replied, gently squeezing her fingers. "Our connection… it doesn't only work when we want it. It works when it's needed."
Julie leaned closer. Their foreheads touched for a fraction of a second.
"Are you afraid?"
Jeremy gave a half-smile.
"I'm afraid for you."
And before she could answer, he pulled her close. Held her in his arms. That was all—but in that embrace, there was more than any confession.
Julie closed her eyes. She felt, for the first time in hours, that she was truly breathing.