Sophie Wilde flickers back across the glass—more echo than girl—while Joe Bird’s Riley and Alexandra Jensen’s Jade face a new rule: the hand has a second grip. The trailer detonates with bone‑tap knocks and candlelight that burns backward.

A party on a Greek rooftop (fireworks, phones, a dare) snaps into blackout as someone whispers “Talk to me” in the wrong language—and something answers twice. Clips sting: a morgue drawer sliding open by itself; a classroom where every student’s front camera shows a different ghost; knuckles rapping from inside a mirror; a countdown tattoo that keeps changing wrists.

The 90‑second limit frays into arithmetic—30, 15, zero—because the other side learned the game. “Don’t let them in,” an old video warns. The cut smiles: you already did. Sound design mixes ringtone pulses with wet breathing and ceramic fingernails on glass; edits hit on each tap. Final image: two embalmed hands touch—left and right—and the lights die like eyes closing.