Astrid Fells, meticulous and passionate about restoring forgotten beauty, believed her perfectly orchestrated dinner party marked a fresh start. Twelve guests gathered in the resurrected kitchen of her century-old Portland craftsman: old friends, new acquaintances, and one enigmatic stranger. As the grandfather clock chimed 9:13, Astrid’s vision of a perfect evening shattered.
The world shimmered, resetting. Appetizers vanished, music restarted, conversations rewound. At first, Astrid alone felt the disorienting lurch, but soon, whispers of déjà vu rippled through the gathering. Her renovated kitchen, a testament to her hard work, had become a time loop, dragging her guests into a terrifying, repeating nightmare.
Each reset peeled back another layer of their carefully crafted facades. Jovial laughter masked crippling insecurity. Polished composure fractured, revealing a heart grappling with silent grief. And the stranger, John Palmer, watched with an unsettlingly knowing gaze.
Astrid’s search for answers led her to a dusty photograph, a chilling echo of a dinner party held in the same kitchen in 1913. A forgotten tragedy – a devastating fire, a missing thirteenth guest, and a story deliberately buried. The house, Astrid realized, wasn’t just a setting; it was a sentient entity, demanding a reckoning with the past.
The loop wasn’t random; it was a twisted form of karmic balance, an unspoken debt from 1913. Hidden connections emerged. A pragmatic lawyer discovered she was a relative of the missing guest, inheriting a psychic link to the house’s vibrations. John Palmer’s obsession with the house’s history bordered on the uncanny, blinding him to the real danger.
Astrid uncovered a shocking truth: the missing guest wasn’t missing; he was murdered, a sacrifice to appease the house. Now, the house demanded another. The ticking clock became a relentless countdown, each tick a stark reminder of the dwindling time and the impossible choice Astrid faced: who would be the next victim?
As 9:13 approached, faces warped by flickering gaslight, contorted by secrets, Astrid knew she wouldn’t offer a sacrifice. She would offer something the house craved even more: the truth. In a final, desperate gamble, she used the time loop as a rehearsal, recreating the events of 1913, exposing the long-hidden
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