Snow hushes a mountainside abbey as Sister Irene returns to investigate a chain of “miracles” that taste like ash. A confession whispers from an empty booth; walls vein into a sigil; bells sewn into coffins start to ring by themselves .

Valak isn’t hiding—she’s recruiting—wearing daylight like a mask. A shuttered school, catacombs under a pilgrim road, a reliquary that boils holy water; rosaries knot into barbed wire as lanterns choke to blue .