PROLOGUE
Beeping pierced the silence, pulling me from the depths of darkness. I fought to open my eyes, but harsh light sliced into my vision, making me recoil.
Panic tightened my chest as I squinted to block out some of the glare, desperate for clarity. I turned my head, searching for something. I couldn’t say what, but nothing was clicking at the moment.
My throat was dry, parched like the desert, and a bitter, medicinal taste coated my tongue. I pushed against the mattress, trying to sit up, but a sharp tug on my arm stopped me cold.
My heart raced, beating like a wild drum in my chest as I looked down. Wires tangled from my chest and arm, and an IV needle was taped to my elbow, dripping something into my veins.
My breathing kicked up, and I squeezed my eyes shut again, trying to get my bearings, but the beeping didn’t stop, and my thoughts wouldn’t settle long enough for me to make sense of anything.
I clawed at the edges of my own mind and came back with nothing. Something had happened, something bad, but my brain was a locked room I couldn’t get into.
I forced my eyes open again and looked around the room. The chair beside the bed was empty.
No one was here for me? No one cared? Where was my family? I wondered.
The realization that I was alone made my breathing falter for a second before picking back up. The machines around me started beeping faster, responding to the spike in my heart rate.
I knew I was in a hospital, but I didn’t remember how I got here. My last clear memory… I had no clear memory. My mind only drew blanks.
I reached down and started ripping at the wires attached to my chest, my fingers fumbling with the adhesive. One came free, then another. The monitors screamed in protest, their alarms blaring like a siren.
I looked across the room, searching for anything that could ground me in reality. That was when I saw a calendar mounted on the wall opposite the bed. My gaze locked on the date, and the wind was knocked right out of me.
The year had changed.
Not just the month. The entire year.
But how did I know that when I didn’t know much of anything else, not even my name? I couldn’t say, but it felt right, and I always followed my instincts.
I stared at those numbers as if they were written in a different language. December had bled into January, which meant... how long had I been here? Days? Weeks? Months? The thought sent ice through my veins, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe fast enough.
I had to get out.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and slid down until my feet hit the cold floor, then pushed myself upright on legs that had forgotten how to hold me. A hospital gown was all I had on, and the back of it hung open, exposing skin I didn’t remember being this scarred.
I ignored it and looked around frantically. A chair in the corner of the room held a black duffel bag. I crossed the distance in three strides and snatched it up. Inside were clothes. Real clothes. Jeans, a black hoodie, underwear, socks. Even a pair of sneakers, laced and ready.
Someone had left this for me. Someone who knew I’d wake up, and I didn’t waste time wondering who.
I peeled off the hospital gown and dressed quickly, my hands shaking as I pulled everything on. I was halfway through tying my second sneaker when the door swung open. A nurse in pale blue scrubs stepped into the room, her eyes widening the moment she saw me standing there fully clothed.
“Ms. Holiday, you need to get back in bed,” she said, moving toward me with her hands up in a placating gesture.
Holiday? I turned the name over in my head until I remembered my name was Konika… Konika Holiday.
“The doctor hasn’t cleared you for—” the nurse started to say, but I pushed past her, my shoulder brushing hers as I bolted for the door.
My body felt weak and uncoordinated, like I was operating a machine I’d never used before, but adrenaline was a hell of a drug. It carried me through the doorway and into the hallway beyond.
“Ms. Holiday, wait!” the nurse yelled behind me.
Her footsteps were quick, but I could tell she wasn’t running.
Up ahead to the left was an elevator, and to the right was a set of double doors marked “STAIRWELL” in faded letters. I bolted for the stairs as the nurse’s voice grew more insistent behind me.
“Ms. Holiday, please! You’re not stable enough to leave. You could hurt yourself.”
