The room was silent—too silent. The kind that pressed in on your ears, heavy with things unsaid. Sienna stared at her phone screen, frozen. The video she had taken of herself the night before played on loop.
She had no memory of the occurrence of it.
In the dim light of her bedroom, the camera had caught her sitting upright on her bed, eyes wide open, but completely still. Her mouth moved in soft, slurred whispers, words that sent shivers down her spine even though she couldn't understand them. The only word that played back clearly, again and again, was a chilling whisper—"Ilaira"
Sienna dropped the phone, heart thudding. She wasn't just scared now—she was afraid for them all.
By midday, the girls had regrouped at Alani's. Rain drizzled outside, painting streaks on the glass. The Sisterhood Jar sat in the center of the coffee table, wrapped in a silk cloth, still and quiet, as though it were listening.
"I don't remember anything," Sienna said softly, gripping her mug. "But I recorded myself sleep-talking. I was… saying things. Chanting. And Ilaira's name—over and over."
Alani's face paled. "You think the jar is… trying to link us?"
Naya shivered and leaned forward. "I don't think it's just linking us—I think it's watching. Or listening. Maybe both."
Sienna stood, pacing. "This isn't just energy or dreams anymore. We've crossed into something else. Maybe we did from the beginning. We need to be careful."
"I'll take it next," Naya said, almost too quickly. "Let me see if it reacts the same way to me."
They hesitated, exchanging glances. There was no leader among them—only a silent agreement that they needed answers. And if rotating the jar was the only way to figure it out, so be it.
They handed Naya the jar carefully, almost reverently. Her hands trembled as she touched it.
And again… it felt warm.
"Document everything," Sienna warned. "Even if you think it's nothing. Every flicker, dream, feeling."
Naya nodded, clutching the jar like it might crack open a world none of them were ready for.
That night, the shadows in Naya's room stretched longer than they should have. Her dreams started normally—a childhood memory of riding bikes with her older brother. Then, something shifted.
The sky darkened. The ground cracked beneath her. In the dream, she was alone now, in a field of scorched earth. The jar hovered before her, glowing, and whispering names she couldn't recognize.
She tried to run but her legs wouldn't move.
A voice—her own—echoed from nowhere and everywhere:
*"One must always pay. The jar remembers. The blood decides."*
She jolted awake, drenched in sweat. And there, across her wall, barely visible in the moonlight, was the same smudged charcoal writing:
"Soon, the pact must be honored."
The next morning, she didn't wait. She called the girls, her voice barely steady. They gathered again, this time at Sasha's.
"I think it's tied to us now," Naya said, her voice thin. "Each of us. It wants something. And it's waiting."
Sasha clenched her fists. "What do we do now?"
Before anyone could answer, Naya's phone buzzed. A message. No sender. Just a video file.
She opened it. Her hands shook.
It was another recording from last night—but this time, the video wasn't of Naya.
It was from outside Sasha's house.
The camera zoomed in slowly through her window.
Sasha was not alone.
Kian.
They were locked in a kiss, oblivious, tangled in passion.
No one spoke.
Alani turned slowly toward the group, her face ashen. "This isn't just about the jar anymore... someone is watching all of us."
Outside the house, unseen by all, a figure stood across the street, shrouded in black.
They smiled.
And dialed a number.
"It's time."
A gust of wind blew through Sasha's room, even though the windows were shut. The Sisterhood Jar glowed faintly again. And this time—it cracked.