JASMINE
I sat on the edge of the bed in our room, my heart still racing from the successful meeting. Stephan had just closed the door behind us, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and exhaustion. He pulled me into his arms again, holding me close like he was afraid I might vanish.
But I couldn't enjoy the moment fully. The weight of everything — the erased memories, the "writer," the staged accident — pressed down on me. I gently pulled back and looked up at him.
"Stephan… there's something I need to tell you. About Grandmother. And Jaden. I don't fully understand it myself, but I'm sure the writer is behind it."
He frowned, confused. "The writer? Jasmine, what are you—"
I quickly placed a finger on his lips, shaking my head. I noticed how my phone screen kept flickering slightly, as if someone was watching through it. The writer. I couldn't speak freely.
I grabbed my phone and started typing rapidly, then showed him the screen.
