There, in the dim glow of the nightlight, he saw Clara sitting upright on the couch, her eyes fixed on him, wide and unblinking. But it was not her presence that shook him to his core; it was the transformation. Her hair, once a rich chestnut, was stark white, and her face, usually vibrant, was ashen with an expression of eerie calm etched upon it.

“Clara…” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart.

She tilted her head, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “I saw everything, Daniel,” she said, her voice carrying an unsettling tranquility. “While you thought you were putting me to sleep, I was waking up.”