Mikaela quietly observed the evidence she had gathered. Her thoughts swirled with uncertainty. She knew she was searching for something—but what exactly? The answer danced just out of reach.
She sat down, deep in thought.
What will I look for in the mansion? Was Mom keeping a secret back then? The questions lingered, unresolved.
Memories began to stitch themselves together in her mind. She scratched her head and lay down, hoping clarity would follow. And then—suddenly—an image surfaced.
An old notebook? she wondered.
Why did that memory come to her now?
She focused, trying to connect the pieces. In a hazy vision, a notebook weathered by time appeared—held by someone. A man, she thought.
Have I seen that notebook before? The question echoed inside her.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't recall clearly. She needed to calm her mind.
I need to travel, Mikaela thought to herself. She was determined.
Her ability did not fail her. On her journey, she found herself standing before the mansion.
A child was hiding near the door, peeking into a room. Mikaela moved closer—it was the same child who had once hidden there before.
Only then did she realize—she was seeing herself. A younger Mikaela, in the form of a child, was looking into what she now recognized as her parents' room.
Her mother, Bella, was there—holding something. Mikaela looked closer and was startled.
It was the old notebook.
She stepped forward to approach her mother, but the sound of footsteps interrupted. Someone was coming.
She saw her mother hurriedly hide the notebook. Their father was approaching.
Her mother took her by the hand and led her away, to a small room where she quietly cried. Mikaela noticed the bruises on her mother's cheek. Still, she clutched the notebook tightly.
"Mommy, what is that?" young Mikaela asked.
Bella, startled, turned and looked at her daughter. "Mika, it's you." She quickly wiped her tears and forced a small smile.
"What is that, Mommy?" the four-year-old repeated.
"Ah, it's nothing, dear," Bella replied gently. "This is Mommy's important thing."
"Important?" the child asked.
Her mother nodded. "Yes, it's important."
"Why is it important?"
Bella suddenly pulled her into a tight hug, sobbing softly.
"Someday, you'll understand, Mika," she whispered. "I'll give you a mission, okay? You must protect this notebook."
She showed it to her daughter.
Though confused, young Mikaela simply nodded and smiled.
The memory shifted.
Now, Mikaela was in another room, dimly lit by a single bulb. A woman sat tied to a chair, hands and feet bound, eyes blindfolded.
"Mommy?" Mikaela whispered.
The door opened. A man stepped in—holding a whip.
"Bella, I'm very disappointed," her father said coldly, shaking his head at the bruised woman.
Bella said nothing.
"Were you planning to report me to the police?" he growled. "You didn't succeed, did you? I told you—I have connections everywhere. I know everything."
His voice dropped to a whisper, filled with menace.
Mikaela remembered that moment. A child's voice called out:
"Mommy, Mommy?"
"Mi…kaela," her mother replied weakly.
"What did you do to Mommy, Dad?" Mikaela asked, her young voice confused.
"Giovane!" their father barked.
The ten-year-old boy obeyed silently.
"Get that away from here!"
Giovane followed orders, pulling Mikaela away as she cried out, "What are you going to do to Mommy? Mommy!"
But she still saw it.
She witnessed her father punish her mother. She lost count of how many times the whip struck her. Bella said nothing. She bore the pain in silence.
"Do you want the twins to get involved, Bella?" her father threatened.
"D-Don't… don't involve the twins," her mother pleaded. "They have nothing to do with this."
Mikaela remembered the fear in her mother's eyes.
The scene shifted again.
She was six years old. Her mother had just died.
Mikaela searched through her parents' room. She was looking for the old notebook.
She found it hidden in her mother's closet. The pages had a brown tint, and something compelled her to smell it.
She recoiled. Blood.
Terrified, she dropped it. Then, with trembling hands, picked it up again.
Even at that age, she understood: this notebook was connected to her mother's death.
She opened it. Her brows furrowed.
Strange letters. Numbers. Names she couldn't pronounce. None of it made sense to her young mind.
"You really meddled with that."
Giovane appeared, taking the notebook from her.
"If you don't want to die, don't mess with what you don't understand, Mikaela," he warned, then left.
Suddenly, darkness enveloped her. She woke up—gasping—as if from a long dream.
But now, she remembered everything. The notebook. Her mother's suffering. Why it was so important.
I need to see what was written there again, she told herself.
Remind yourself, Mikaela. That detail is important. You need to decide. You need to act.
Mommy...
Tears rolled down her cheeks as the image of her mother—broken, beaten, betrayed—haunted her.
Murdered by someone she trusted...
I need to come up with a plan before I go to the mansion.
Sleep would not come. Mikaela just lay awake, thinking—haunted by the past, and driven by the truth.