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My throat works, desperately trying to swallow, but it's as if all the water has been wrung from my body. I feel papery and dry; flimsy and weak. I try again, but it’s like trying to push ice cream across sand.

“Are you ready for tonight?”

What the fuck.

This time, my eyes snap open at the sound of my father’s voice.

“Papa?” I croak.

But he’s not here. Not really.

“Yes Papa, I’m ready.”

A cold chill—colder even than the icy damp wrapped around me—tumbles down my back.

That was my voice.

Slowly, my eyes lift to the screen on the wall.

“You’ll make sure Nero is at the spot you agreed on?”

It’s a video—from a security camera, judging by the graininess. Papa and I are sitting on a bench, in the back garden of our house, facing away from the camera. I watch, my brows furrowed in confusion as on-screen Papa puts his arm around my shoulders and nods.

“Of course, Papa.”

“Excellent,” Papa growls. He turns, the camera picking up half his face as he smiles at the me on screen. “If that changes, let me know immediately.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“I’m proud of you,malyshka. Doing what the family needs you to do.”

“Of course, Papa. This is what we Kalishniks do. Besides, he means nothing to me. It’s all a means to an end.”

An uncanny horror twists in my chest. I know that’s me, just like I know that’s Papa. I know those are our voices.

ButI don’t remember this conversation.

At all.

I’m not even sure what the “we” on screen are talking about.

A violent chill wrenches my body, pulling my attention from the TV. I’m lying on a cold, grungy cement floor. I’m still in the white dress that I chose for my date with Nero, and the chilly air assaults my exposed skin like so many claws. It’s notfreezing, but it’s cold enough that the discomfort is beginning to pull me further out of the darkness.

When my eyes properly focus, pure terror slices into me.

What the fuck.

…I’m in acage.

I’m in the middle of a heavy metal ring, maybe ten or twelve feet across. Thick metal bars rise up from the ring, curving towarda center point above me where they meet. They look welded together, like a big birdcage. A single light bulb hangs above the cage, casting bizarre shadows over me and the floor, like more bars.

My pulse thuds. My blood turns to ice as fear hollows me out from the inside.

What the fuck is happ?—

It hits me like a slap in the face.

The restaurant.