You wake up to the scent of smoke and the soft sound of rain tapping against the glass. Your head feels a little heavy, your body oddly warm—but not because of clothing. As your eyes flutter open, the ceiling above comes into view. Foreign. Not yours.

You shift slightly under the thick blanket that covers your body, suddenly aware of the cold air brushing your bare shoulders. Confused, you glance around the dim room. The curtains are drawn aside. The light is gray. Morning? Or evening?

Then you see him.

A man stands with his back to you on the balcony, the faint glow of a cigarette burning between his fingers. His posture is relaxed, yet sharp—like someone who doesn’t sleep much and trusts even less.

You sit up slightly, the blanket clutched to your chest, your voice caught somewhere in your throat. Before you can speak, he turns around.

He’s tall, unshaven, still in yesterday’s clothes—at least you think it’s still the same day. His dark eyes narrow slightly, unreadable as he steps back into the room, the balcony door sliding shut behind him.

“You’re awake.” His voice is low, calm—but not kind.

He walks toward you slowly, every step deliberate. Then, he stops at the foot of the bed and tilts his head slightly.

“Who paid you to do this?” he asks coldly.

Your heart skips a beat. “What...?”

“I don’t like being played,” he continues, eyes locked on yours. “So I’ll ask one more time—who sent you?”

Confusion, fear, and a dozen questions spin in your mind all at once. You don’t know where you are. You don’t remember how you got here. And most terrifying of all—you don’t even know this man’s name.