The Warrens’ artifact room exhales—and the glass case is empty. Vera Farmiga and Patrick Wilson rush in as whispers tick like a clock; Taissa Farmiga’s Sister Irene follows a trail of blasphemies from basement reliquaries to train‑tunnel chapels where prayers echo backward. Bonnie Aarons’ Valak glides like a stormfront, turning sanctuaries into snares, while Annabelle sits in every wrong place at once—bait, battery, and bullet.

Cuts bite: a subway exorcism strobing between ads, a corridor of portraits that won’t blink until you do, a confessional where your voice answers from the other side. Chalk circles smolder; holy water boils in its bottle; a metronome keeps time with a heartbeat that isn’t yours. Lorraine steps into a vision that bites back; Ed sketches a sigil that crawls off the page; Irene signs a prayer when her voice is stolen.

Sound design is a knife—porcelain scrape, bowed metal, then a vacuum silence that feels like hands on your throat. Final sting: Valak kneels before a new case; the latch clicks from the inside, candles gutter out, and two smiles bloom where no mouths are.