April 14, 1912 - North Atlantic

The sea had no mercy that night. As the last notes of the band's hymn faded into the frigid air, Jack Dawson held Rose's trembling hands in his own. The door, a remnant of the ship's opulent furnishings, bobbed in the ink-black water like a lonely stage waiting for its final act. Though his lips had turned blue, Jack's voice remained steady.

"Promise me you'll survive," he whispered, his breath crystallizing in the air between them. "That you won't give up, no matter what happens."

Rose could only nod, her tears freezing on her cheeks as she watched the life slowly fade from the eyes of the man who had taught her to fly. When the end came, it was silent - like the final curtain falling on an unfinished play. She let his body slip into the depths, carrying with it all the dreams they'd shared of Santa Monica and freedom.

Chapter 1: The Phantom's Discovery
Paris, 1912

The Opera Populaire had grown accustomed to silence in the years since the fire. Its halls, once filled with music and light, now echoed only with memories and shadows. I had made peace with this solitude - until she arrived.

She emerged from the darkness like a ghost herself, her red hair catching what little moonlight filtered through the broken dome above. Something in her bearing spoke of a woman who had survived impossible things. Her fingers, pale and elegant, traced the charred walls as if reading a story written in ash.

I should have remained hidden, as I had for so many years. But there was something in her eyes - a familiar pain, a loss that mirrored my own. When I moved from my hiding place, the floorboard's creak betraying my presence, she turned.

Our eyes met across the ruined theater.

And for the first time since Christine, my heart remembered how to beat.

"Mademoiselle," I said, my voice echoing through the empty house, "the Opera Populaire is not safe for wandering souls."

She didn't run. Instead, she smiled - a sad, knowing smile that spoke of deeper wounds than my masked face could ever reveal.

"I've survived worse," she replied, her voice carrying the weight of the Atlantic in its depths.