The night that followed was hell for Élisa. The rain still echoed, but it was Adrien's voice, his breath on her lips, and that "It's not time yet" that haunted her thoughts. When she finally succumbed, her mind plunged into a vividly clear nightmare. She was in a place she recognized – a dark alley in the medina of Casablanca, where shadows danced. She called out to Clara, her voice desperate. Her sister appeared, but her image was blurred, ethereal, and she was bleeding. A crimson stain spread across her white dress. And behind her... Adrien. He held her hand, his face unreadable, his eyes fixed on Élisa. The dream broke as Élisa woke in a sweat, Clara's scream still in her ears.
The day at the university was a blur. The dream tormented her, weaving a sinister web around Adrien. She looked for him, found him in the main hall, leaning against a pillar, engrossed in his phone. The sight of his apparent calm, after what she had seen in her sleep, made Élisa's blood boil.
She approached, her voice tense. "You knew my sister, didn't you? Before... before she died." Adrien slowly looked up, his expression devoid of emotion. "I don't know what you're talking about." "Don't lie to me!" Élisa's voice rose. "I saw you with her. In the pages of her journal, and in my dreams. And in that photo. I know you knew her. Who was she to you?" He looked at her with disconcerting coldness. "Your sister is dead, Élisa. I never truly knew her. You're obsessed." His denial was absolute, perfect. But his gaze... his gaze lied. Élisa saw it, a micro-expression of pain, a fleeting shadow in his dark eyes, betraying a buried truth.
Frustrated, Élisa left him there, rage in her stomach. She headed towards her locker, her mind racing. As she opened it, something caught her attention. A small folded piece of paper tucked between her books. It wasn't her handwriting. Her heart pounding, she unfolded the sheet. Clara's delicate calligraphy spread before her eyes. A letter. Short. Precise.
"Élisa, If you're reading this, something is wrong. Listen carefully. Never trust him. Clara."
Élisa's blood ran cold. "Him" was Adrien. The confirmation was there, in black and white. Her sister's posthumous warning was an invisible chain connecting her to a past she could no longer ignore. Who was Adrien really? A protector, a tormentor... or the murderer her dream seemed to point to? The pact she had sealed with him was turning into a rope around her neck.