The first thing I know is cold. Not the cold of an open window or a room without heat. The cold of stone pressing through my clothes, working its way into muscle and bone like it's been there for hours. I open my eyes. There's blood on my hands. I don't scream. I don't do anything for a long moment except stare at my palms — the dark rust of it dried into the creases of my knuckles, caked under my nails. Then I push myself upright and see him. A man. Face-down on the floor two feet from me, one arm crooked beneath him, the other stretched out like he was reaching for something when he fell. He is not breathing. The stillness of him is absolute, the kind that has no coming back from. There is a knife on the floor between us. My fingerprints are on the handle. I can see the smears clearly, my own grip preserved in blood like a signature. I don't know where I am. The room is bare — no furniture, no pictures, nothing on the walls. A single window near the ceiling lets in grey morning light. The floor is concrete. The walls are the dull beige of a space no one has cared about in years. I don't know this room. I don't know this man. I don't know how I got here. My name is Nadia Voss. I'm thirty-one years old. I live in a one-bedroom flat on Mercer Street, and the last thing I remember clearly is Tuesday evening — standing in my kitchen, pouring a glass of water, checking my phone before bed. It is not Tuesday. Two days are simply gone. I press my back against the wall and breathe through my nose, slow and deliberate, because falling apart right now will get me killed. I look at the man again. I don't recognize him. Mid-fifties, grey at the temples, a plain dark jacket. No one I know. I reach for my bag — it's on the floor beside me, strap still looped around my wrist like I held onto it even when I went down. Wallet gone. ID gone. Keys gone. But at the bottom, beneath a crumpled receipt and a lip balm I don't recognize, my fingers close around a phone that is not mine. A cheap plastic burner, no case, no scratches, completely clean. I have never seen it before in my life. Then, somewhere outside the window, sirens begin to wail.