The room was steeped in silence, the kind that pressed against her ears and made her chest feel heavy. Samantha lay there, her eyes locked on the stark white ceiling. It loomed above her like a canvas begging for answers she couldn’t give. The darkness around her seemed alive, creeping into the edges of her thoughts, amplifying her confusion.
The bed Takumi had lent her felt foreign—too soft, too pristine—yet it offered no comfort. Sleep was out of the question, as her mind churned relentlessly. Questions piled atop one another, their weight crushing her resolve. She refused to accept what they had told her. Every word they spoke felt like a carefully crafted lie, a puzzle with pieces that didn’t fit.
The air in the room grew colder, or perhaps it was her imagination. Her fingers gripped the blanket as if it were the only tether to reality she had left. But even that felt insubstantial, like everything else in this unfamiliar world. The longer she stared into the void of the ceiling, the more she felt the gnawing sensation of being watched—not by someone, but by the truth, lurking just beyond her reach.
Nothing added up.
What was she even doing in Takumi's house? Why had Kathleen, her best friend, refused to let her stay at her place? And since when were Kathleen and Tomoya so close?
There was an intimacy in their interactions that Samantha couldn’t ignore, the kind of familiarity that didn’t develop overnight—especially with someone as guarded as Kathleen. Christian, for one, looked as though he was used to his girlfriend being that carefree.
She noticed everything, every subtle shift, every seemingly insignificant detail. Kathleen didn’t usually get along with people Samantha brought into her life, particularly Tomoya, whose arrogance grated on her. Yet now they shared quiet looks, unspoken words, and a bond Samantha couldn’t decipher.
Junel’s presence was even more baffling. How had he become part of their circle? The way Tomoya spoke to him earlier betrayed a level of camaraderie that suggested more than a passing acquaintance.
And why was Junel here after the earthquake instead of with his girlfriend, Kim? It didn’t make sense. The web of coincidences felt too perfectly crafted, as though someone had written the script and she was the only one who hadn’t read it.
And Scott—he hadn’t reached out to her even once. Kathleen claimed she’d lost her phone during the earthquake, but Scott could have found another way to check on her. The silence was deafening, his absence too glaring to ignore.
Her thoughts clawed at her, refusing to let go. Everything felt off-kilter, like a dream she couldn’t wake from. Something was happening beneath the surface, something she wasn’t meant to understand. 
Samantha pushed herself up slowly, clutching the sheets for support. Her body felt heavier than usual, and a dull ache lingered in her muscles. She turned on the small lamp by the bedside table, its warm glow cutting through the darkness, and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
The house was eerily quiet. She tiptoed to the door and cracked it open, peeking out to make sure none of the maids were around. She still couldn’t wrap her head around how massive Takumi’s place was—or how many people worked here. Sure, she knew he was related to Tomoya, but cousins this close? She never saw that coming.
Satisfied the coast was clear, she slipped out into the hall, her footsteps light as she made her way to the living room. The silence hit her harder there, amplifying the chill in the air. She paused, suddenly feeling a strange sensation ripple through her body, like a spark. Her knees wobbled, and she instinctively reached for the wall to steady herself.
Her hands tingled as she flexed them, testing if they still moved the way they should. Kathleen’s voice echoed in her mind, reminding her of the nerve damage she’d suffered during the earthquake. Takumi had been kind enough to help her recover, but something about this felt… off.
“Dr. Andersen? Are you all right?”
The voice startled her, and she looked up to see one of Takumi’s maids—a young woman with a kind face—watching her with concern.
“I—yes, I’m fine,” Samantha said quickly, though her words felt unconvincing even to herself. “Could I get some water, please?”
“Of course,” the maid said with a polite smile, gesturing for Samantha to follow her.
Trailing behind, Samantha entered the kitchen and sat at the large table where they’d had dinner earlier. The maid grabbed a glass and filled it with cold water before placing it in front of her.
“Is there anything else you need, Doctor?” the maid asked.
Samantha hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the glass. “Could you tell me what date it is today?”
Samantha's unease grew as she watched the maid's expression falter ever so slightly, her brows twitching just enough to betray a flicker of hesitation.
"It's December 20th, Dr. Andersen," the maid finally said, her voice measured and calm.
Samantha paused, the glass of water halfway to her lips. December 20th? Yes, it should be. She remembered glancing at the calendar in her office—it was marked as the 18th.
"Alright, thank you," Samantha said with a polite smile. "You can go back to sleep now."
The maid gave a small bow, her footsteps fading into the quiet corridors. Left alone, Samantha leaned against the counter, her mind spinning. If it was true—if only two days had passed since her last solid memory and the earthquake—then how could she explain the unnatural closeness she had observed among everyone? Tomoya, Kathleen, Junel, and Takumi’s interactions carried the weight of familiarity forged over much more than forty-eight hours. It felt impossible.
She let out a quiet chuckle, shaking her head as if to dismiss the gnawing confusion. Walking to the sink, she washed the glass methodically, the sound of running water grounding her in the moment. Setting the glass on the dryer, she lingered, inhaling deeply, trying to convince herself that the mysteries swirling in her mind could wait until morning.
For a fleeting moment, she felt lighter. Maybe she was overthinking. Maybe the simplest answer—that time and circumstance had drawn everyone together—was the truth. But just as she turned away from the sink, any fragile sense of calm was ripped away.
Standing in the kitchen doorway was Junel, his face partially obscured by shadow. Samantha’s eyes immediately fell to the knife in his hand, catching the faint glint of metal under the dim light. Her body stiffened, the air around her growing colder.
Junel’s expression was unreadable, his presence unsettling. The warmth of her earlier rationalizations evaporated, replaced by a sharp, choking dread that rooted her in place.