"Where am I?" I gasped, hands scrabbling for anything solid. Light stabbed from the ceiling. I sat up too fast and the room tilted. My mouth tasted like pennies and rubber. A hand thudded against something on the bed and the motion sent a cold wave through me. "Stay down," I told myself. My voice was raw, higher than I wanted. I cleared it. "Stay down, Izz." A body lay face down against the far pillow. A man's jacket was folded over his shoulders. I pressed my fingers to my temple and found a bruise blooming there. A strip of tape clung to my wrist. My chest felt weird under the shirt—tight in all the wrong places. "Not now," I whispered. I reached for the edge of the nightstand and knocked over a glass. Water spilled and ran slow, like the room had turned syrup. I pulled the jacket over my shoulders and willed my voice to drop. A knock at the door. Hard. Not tentative. "Room service!" a thick voice called through the wood. "Sir? Housekeeping?" I froze. The door knocked again, faster. The lights hummed. Somewhere far away a siren keened and then cut. I rolled off the bed, landing on knees that didn't like the motion. My hands found a razor, a hotel key, a crumpled hotel pay slip with an unfamiliar name. My fingers trembled around the razor; the blade flashed and I imagined slicing my throat if I stayed. The man on