Nadia Voss wakes up on a cold stone floor with blood on her hands, a dead man at her feet, and a knife between them — her fingerprints pressed into the handle like a signature. She has no memory of the last 48 hours, no idea whose house she's in, and no explanation for why she's there. What she does have is the creeping certainty that she didn't end up in that room by accident — that someone put her there, someone who knew exactly what it would look like when she was found. As she runs, the truth she's been trusting begins to crack at the edges, and the face behind it is one she never thought to doubt. The question isn't whether she can prove her innocence — it's whether she'll survive long enough to expose the man who made her look guilty.