The attic felt colder than usual, as if the house itself was holding its breath.
Nira sat cross-legged on the floor, the notebook open on her lap. Her hands trembled slightly, not from fear — or not only from fear — but from the intoxicating pull of the unknown.
She had spent the morning poring over her mother's letters, piecing together fragments of her past. The notebook, however, remained a mystery beyond comprehension. Each time she looked away, it seemed to shift — a subtle flutter of pages, the faintest scent of ink in the air.
Curiosity overtook caution. Nira grabbed a small UV flashlight from the old supply cabinet and pointed it at the pages.
Almost immediately, faint writing began to appear beneath the visible ink. Lines that had been invisible in daylight glowed faintly under the violet light, forming words in her mother's delicate handwriting.
"Do not trust the entries. Only you can choose the path."
Another line appeared:
"One life must end for another to begin. She must understand before it is too late."
Nira's chest tightened. The notebook wasn't just a record — it was a mirror, a warning, a guide, and a weapon all at once.
Her fingers trembled as she turned another page. Hidden under the original entry was a diagram — a series of circles connected by faint lines, almost like a map. At the center was a small dot, labeled: Nira.
It was as if the notebook had been tracking her existence all along.
"The ink remembers. The ink knows. It will not let go."
The words seemed alive, pulsing faintly, urging her to understand what her mother had feared.
Nira's mind raced. Every coincidence, every prediction — from the sparrow to the stranger — suddenly made sense. The notebook wasn't passive. It was active. Calculating. Testing.
A faint noise drew her gaze. The attic door creaked. She wasn't alone.
"Arian?" she whispered, though her voice was trembling.
No answer. Just the soft flutter of pages.
The notebook's current page glowed faintly in the corner of her vision. Another hidden message appeared:
"Tomorrow you will meet the one who warns. Listen — but do not follow blindly."
Her pulse quickened. That line was new, unseen yesterday. It was the same prediction she had glimpsed in Chapter 3.
Nira realized, with a cold certainty, that she had already stepped into the notebook's plan. The predictions weren't merely events to watch — they were tests.
She closed the notebook quickly, pressing it against her chest. The words had left her shaken, but also determined.
If the notebook wanted her to follow its path, she would do so — but on her own terms.
She had to know the truth. About her mother. About the notebook. About what she herself was capable of.
And somewhere deep in the shadows of the attic, she thought she heard her mother's voice — faint, distant, yet unmistakable:
"Nira… the ink remembers what we try to forget."
Nira shivered, a mix of fear and resolve coursing through her. Tomorrow, she would meet the stranger who knows the notebook, and for the first time, she would decide what she believed — and what she would risk.