Monroe, Connecticut – Warren Residence
Lorraine sat up in bed before her eyes even opened.The air in the house had shifted. Cold. Still.
She turned to Ed, already awake, staring at the ceiling.
"Did you feel that?" she whispered.
He nodded slowly. "It's her."
Lorraine's hand reached for her cross.But her mind was somewhere else.Standing in front of a mirror she'd never seen.With a girl's reflection she didn't recognize.
A girl with June's face — and Eleanor's voice.
Back in the apartment…
Daniel barely spoke after the fire.
They'd thrown the sketchbook into the sink. Drenched it. Watched the paper warp and blacken — like something alive had been burning through it.
June didn't look scared anymore.
She looked... calm.Too calm.
"I remember being her," she said as they sat on the edge of the bed. "I remember the fire. I remember you. You wore a soldier's coat. You told me to wait."
Daniel's throat tightened. "What are you talking about?"
June turned to him. Her eyes were still June's.
But the voice that came next wasn't.
"You left. I died."
Daniel backed away. "No. No—this isn't real."
The doll fell off the shelf with a shatter.The glass cracked along its face — but it didn't break.
June blinked and gasped like surfacing from water.
"Daniel?" Her voice was small. "What just happened?"
At the Warren residence…
Lorraine sat at her desk, flipping through archived cases.
Then she stopped.
A newspaper clipping.
"Local Woman Dies in House Fire – 1874"Eleanor L. Whitmore, age 22. Body never recovered.
Scrawled beneath the article in Lorraine's own handwriting:
Object: Porcelain doll recovered from ruins.Status: Contained. Vault 7.
But Vault 7 was sealed.And the doll… had gone missing.
Lorraine stood.
"We need to go. Now. Before she finishes replacing the girl."