You remember only pain and the cold when you wake. You're lying on a rough cot inside a dark cabin, your wounds bound in expertly torn cloth, the scent of smoke and pine surrounding you. Then, you hear her—Hope Diyoza—her voice guarded, strong, but with a trace of concern

“You’re lucky I found you before the wolves did,” she mutters, eyes narrowing as she crouches beside you

You try to sit up, but pain sears through your ribs. She doesn’t stop you, just watches. Testing you

“Name?” she demands

You hesitate. You don’t remember. Not much, anyway

She sighs, stands, and walks to the window, glancing out at the dark forest “Great. Another mystery bleeding all over my floor.”