Chapter 1

The scholarship student my family sponsored, Samantha Russo, used some twisted, dark occult ritual to swap bodies with me.

In my last life, I cried and screamed, begging anyone who would listen to believe that I was the real Eleanor Beaumont, the true daughter of the house.

But my parents didn’t believe me. My fiancé didn’t believe me.

They looked at me like a lunatic and locked me away in a psychiatric ward. Later, when the institutional money ran out, Samantha had me discharged into the hands of traffickers. I was sold into the deep, forgotten pockets of the Rust Belt. I was locked in a basement by a sadistic drifter who shattered my arms and legs, torturing me to death in the damp dark.

It was only after I died that I learned the rule: the body swap only lasted for thirty days.

When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the very first day of the swap.

1.

I walked over to the mirror. The glass reflected a face that was plain and profoundly timid.

Rough skin. Dull, brittle hair.

It was Samantha Russo, the charity case my parents had funded since middle school.

The sickening crunch of breaking bones echoed in my ears. The metallic, wet stench of the dirt cellar rushed into my sinuses.

In my previous life, I had woken up in this exact spot.

I had run out like a madwoman, grabbing my mother by the shoulders, screaming over and over, "I am Eleanor, it’s me, I’m your daughter."

All it earned me were sedatives and the leather restraints of a psych ward bed.

And then came that windowless room, the perpetual darkness, and the agonizing shatter of my own limbs.

I closed my eyes and waited for the violent churning in my chest to subside.

Right on cue, the bedroom door swung open.

Samantha walked in, wearing my face, my clothes, my life.

Seeing me standing there—neither crying nor screaming—she looked almost disappointed.

"Why so quiet?" she taunted. "Aren't you going to run out there and tell Richard and Margaret that you're the real Eleanor?"

I looked at her. "You already secured that fully funded doctoral fellowship. As long as you graduate normally, you’ll have a brilliant career. Why did you have to steal my life?"

Samantha scoffed. "What good is a fellowship? You study for a decade just to end up working as someone else's employee."

She glanced down at the diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist—"my" wrist. "But you... you're different. You don't have to lift a finger, and the best things in the world are just handed to you on a silver platter."

She smirked. "Looking at yourself now, don't you want to switch back?"

When I didn't answer, she laughed. "Not that throwing a tantrum would help. I have a hundred ways to get you kicked out of the Beaumont estate."

"Kicked out."

Hearing those words, the invisible wire pulled taut around my ribs suddenly went slack.

She only wanted to kick me out. She didn’t think she needed to kill me yet.

Which meant she had absolutely no idea about the thirty-day rule.

If that was the case... this was going to be fun.

...

At dinner, my mother used her fork to slide a fresh, raw oyster onto Samantha's plate.

"Here you go, Ellie. Your absolute favorite. Have some more."

Samantha's hand, holding her oyster fork, froze in mid-air.

I had loved oysters on the half-shell since I was a little girl. Samantha despised them.

She used to complain to the kitchen staff, saying the texture was slimy and swallowing them made her gag.

But my mother was looking at her with a warm, expectant smile.

Samantha had no choice but to scoop it up and swallow it. By the time it went down, her smile was rigid and green around the edges.

My father didn’t notice. He was too busy discussing her upcoming trip to Europe.

"The paperwork is all set. After you head over next month, just focus on your art history courses. There’s no rush to join the family firm. You can take your time learning the ropes when you get back."

Samantha's eyes lit up. "Thank you, Dad."

My father smiled and nodded, then turned his gaze to me. "Samantha, your Ph.D. fellowship has been finalized, hasn't it?"

"Yes."

"You’ve always been such a driven girl. Our investment in you wasn't for nothing. Keep studying hard; you have a bright future ahead of you."

My mother chimed in, "You're not afraid of hard work, dear. Once you graduate, you'll make a wonderful life for yourself."

I gripped my soup spoon. It took me a long time to say, "Thank you, Mr. Beaumont. Thank you, Mrs. Beaumont."

They were taking the future that rightfully belonged to me and handing it to Samantha, piece by piece. But what truly made my throat ache was the genuine kindness they were showing "Samantha" in this moment.

All these years, they had truly, earnestly wanted her to succeed.

Half an hour after dinner, chaos erupted upstairs.

Samantha claimed her pink diamond pendant was missing.

It was the necklace my father had won at auction for my eighteenth birthday. It was worth half a million dollars.

The housekeeper hesitated before speaking. "This afternoon... I believe I saw Miss Russo going into your bedroom, Miss Eleanor."

Every eye in the room turned to me.

I didn't defend myself. "If you suspect me, search my room."

My mother was the first to frown, instinctively stepping in front of me to shield me.

"Impossible. Samantha has lived with us for years. She isn't that kind of girl. Ellie, sweetie, are you sure you didn't just misplace it?"

Samantha clearly hadn't expected this. She stiffened, then quickly lowered her head. "Then... I suppose we can keep looking."

Ten minutes later, the housekeeper pulled the pink diamond out of the hidden lining of my suitcase.

The living room went dead silent.

My mother stared at the necklace for a long, agonizing moment before turning to me. "Why? Eleanor has always treated you like a sister. We have never mistreated you."

Her voice cracked. "If you really wanted something, couldn't you have just asked me?"

In that split second, the words almost tore out of my throat: "Mom, it’s me. I am Eleanor."

But as the words hit the back of my teeth, I saw Samantha staring at me, her eyes manic, practically salivating for me to break down. She was waiting for me to cry and beg them to believe me, just like I had in my last life.

I swallowed the words down like broken glass.

"I'm sorry."

The anticipation on Samantha's face shattered. She quickly looped her arm through my mother's.

"Mom, let it go. The necklace is back. Samantha probably just had a moment of weakness. I don't want to ruin her life over this."

My father sighed heavily. "This ends here. Samantha, do not ever let this happen again."

They still wanted to sweep it under the rug for her.

I lifted my head. "Call the police."

My father froze. "What?"

"I stole it, and I admit it. If I did something wrong, it should be handled according to the law."

"Samantha, don't throw a tantrum," my father’s face darkened. "That necklace is incredibly valuable. If there is an official police record, the university will find out. Your fellowship could be revoked."

I watched Samantha's eyes flare with dark delight at the word "revoked."

"I know," I said. "Call the police."

Twenty minutes later, the cruisers arrived.

Because the necklace had been recovered and the Beaumont family explicitly refused to press charges, a formal case wasn't opened. However, the dispatch record and the preliminary police inquiry were officially logged.

Before leaving, the officer looked at me. "You are confirming that you took the item?"

"I confirm it."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Samantha standing by the staircase. The screen of her phone was glowing.

She was recording the audio.

After the police left, my parents instructed the staff that not a single word of tonight's events was to leave the house.

My mother rubbed her temples, looking exhausted. "The girl still has to finish her degree. Let's not completely destroy her future over one terrible mistake."

Samantha leaned sweetly against her shoulder. "Don't worry, Mom. I won't say a word to anyone."

I glanced at her.

Of course she would. She would be the first one in line to spill the secret.

2.

On the morning of the sixth day, I was sitting in the campus library when my academic advisor called.

"Samantha, come to my office immediately."

"Someone filed an anonymous report accusing you of grand larceny. An audio recording and the police inquiry logs were sent straight to the dean."

I closed my textbook. "Understood. I'm on my way."

When I reached the office door, Samantha was already standing in the hallway.

She crossed her arms and smirked. "If you walk in there right now, your fellowship is gone. You're wearing my identity. You have no money, no connections. The only thing you actually have to your name are those academic transcripts."

I reached for the door handle, but she stepped in front of it.

"Beg me," she whispered. "Beg me, just once, and I'll walk in there right now and tell the professor the whole necklace thing was a misunderstanding."

"No need." I bypassed her and walked into the office.

My advisor’s desk was littered with Samantha's thesis drafts, heavily marked with his red pen.

Seeing me enter, he slammed the incident report onto his desk.

"You've been top of your cohort for four years! The fellowship roster was just finalized! Why on earth would you let something like this happen right now?"

I lowered my eyes. "I'm sorry, Dr. Wallace."

"I don't want your apologies." He sighed, running a hand over his face. "The Beaumonts aren't pressing charges. If Eleanor Beaumont is willing to formally state this was a private misunderstanding, I can still fight for you with the disciplinary committee. Don't throw your life away."

Just then, he noticed Samantha lingering outside the glass door.

"Miss Beaumont, please come in. Was this necklace situation a misunderstanding?"

Samantha stepped inside, her face a mask of polite hesitation. "Professor, could I have a private word with Samantha out in the hall first?"

Once we reached the end of the corridor, the gentle façade melted off her face.

"Your entire future is hanging on a single word from me. Even now, you won't beg?"

I looked at her calmly. "Do you really want to hear it that badly?"

"Obviously."

"Then I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed."

She glared at me for several seconds, her jaw tight, before spinning on her heel and marching back into the office.

"Professor Wallace, she really did steal it," Samantha said, her voice dripping with sorrow. "Personally, I don't want to press charges. But if the university bends its ethical guidelines just because my family says so... is that really fair to the other students?"

Dr. Wallace sat in stunned silence for a long time.

When I finally stepped out of the office, he called me back, shoving a legal document into my hands.

"There’s one more thing. The corporate-sponsored research grant you've been working on has a strict morality clause. If you are expelled from the program over this, you are liable to return the upfront project funding and pay the breach of contract fee."

I flipped to the last page. "Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars?"

"Give or take." Dr. Wallace looked at me, a deep sadness in his eyes. "That's why I told you to negotiate with the Beaumonts. Samantha, don't back yourself into a corner you can't get out of."

I closed the folder. "It's fine. Proceed according to the university's regulations."

Three days later, the official notices dropped.

Fellowship revoked. Research grant terminated. Ordered to repay $250,000 within thirty days.

As I stood in front of the department bulletin board, Samantha materialized behind me.

"Without the Beaumont family, the only thing this identity had going for it was its academic pedigree. Now that's gone, too. Does it hurt?"

She tapped her finger against the printed penalty amount. "A quarter of a million dollars. How are you going to pay that back?"

When I returned to the estate that evening, my parents had already heard the news.

My father spoke first. "If the fellowship is gone, just finish your bachelor's degree. Once you graduate, I'll set you up with an entry-level position at the firm."

He paused. "Young people make mistakes. It’s not the end of the world. Don't give up on yourself."

When it came to the $250,000, he hesitated for a fraction of a second before saying, "I will front the money to cover this debt for you."

My mother nodded immediately. "Yes. Pay the university back first. Keep your options open."

Samantha practically leaped off the sofa. "Dad, you can't pay it for her!"

Her voice was so shrill and frantic that even my father shot her a startled look.

She caught herself, forcing her tone to soften. "I'm not trying to be vindictive. But... it's because of this money that she'll actually learn her lesson. If the Beaumonts bail her out this time, what happens next time? She created this mess; she needs to take responsibility for it."

She turned to me, her eyes flashing. "If you can't afford it, get a job and pay it off slowly. You can't expect other people to clean up your disasters forever."

I looked at my parents.

They were desperately trying to build a safety net for "Samantha"—while their actual "daughter" stood beside them, frantically trying to burn that net to the ground.

My father fell silent. After a long moment, he asked, "Samantha, what do you think?"

My gaze shifted to Samantha's face.

She was tense. Sweating.

She was terrified that the Beaumont family would actually pay off the debt, terrified that the grave she had meticulously dug for me would be filled back in.

"I have a way to handle it," I said softly.

Late that night, I had just unlocked my phone in my bedroom when Samantha pushed the door open.

"Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars is pocket change to me now. It's the price of a vintage Birkin," she sneered. "Get on your knees. Tell me you were wrong, and promise you'll never try to compete with me again. If it puts me in a good mood, maybe I'll actually pay it off for you."

I ignored her.

My phone buzzed in my hand.

[Initial document review approved. Please proceed with the final signing tomorrow.]

The university and the corporate sponsors were too regulated; if I defaulted, they would just follow standard legal protocol.

That wasn't dangerous enough.

I needed to transfer this debt to someone who, thirty days from now, would never, "ever" let Samantha Russo off the hook.

The next day, I finalized the paperwork for a predatory, high-interest private loan from a shadow lender. As soon as the funds hit the account, I instantly wired the money to clear the university penalty.

The first repayment date for the new loan was set for Day 31.

The very first day we would be back in our own bodies.

3.

With the debt sorted, I packed a small duffel bag with a few clothes. When I came downstairs, both my parents were in the living room.

"Mr. Beaumont, Mrs. Beaumont. I don't have the face to live here anymore."

I bowed deeply to them, turned around, and walked out the door.

For the next few weeks, I checked into the most expensive luxury hotel in the city. I dined at exclusive private supper clubs, booked the most indulgent spa treatments, and drained every single penny of the savings Samantha had hoarded over the years.

Time bled away. Soon, there were only three days left until the swap ended.

When the hotel doorbell rang, Samantha strode in wearing designer heels, her eyes sweeping over the high-end shopping bags littered across the coffee table.

"You're a quarter million in debt, and you still dare to spend money like this?"

I took a slow sip of my espresso. "Isn't money meant to be spent?"

She let out a cold laugh, pulling a gold-embossed envelope from her designer bag and tossing it onto the table.

"Eleanor Beaumont & Bradley Dalton."

"Engagement Gala."

"You "must" come." She leaned over, her face inches from mine. "I want you to see with your own eyes that everything you used to have... is mine now."

Seeing Bradley’s name still made my fingers twitch.

I had been worn down by the horrific ending of my last life. I expected nothing from my parents, nothing from the Beaumont name.

But Bradley was different.

On the thirtieth day, the engagement party was held in the grand ballroom of the city's most opulent hotel.

Samantha wore a custom couture gown, standing at the center of the room, surrounded by glittering high society.

Bradley stood by her side. When people offered toasts, he drank on her behalf. When someone accidentally stepped on her train, he smoothly bent down to fix it, rising to softly ask if she was tired.

I knew those subtle, intimate gestures far too well.

He used to take care of me exactly like that.

I stood in the shadows near the back, a bitter, sour ache rising in my chest that I couldn't quite swallow down.

The ceremony began. The massive screens at the front were supposed to play a montage of the couple's romantic photos.

Instead, the screen flickered, glitching violently, before replacing the photos with massive screenshots of text messages.

The contact names at the top: "Samantha Russo" and "Bradley Dalton".

The ballroom erupted into a stunned, deafening uproar.

But my eyes were entirely locked on the timestamps of those messages.

The dates were from "before" Samantha and I had swapped bodies.

I remembered that specific night. I had cooked an elaborate dinner, waiting for Bradley at my apartment. He had called, his voice dripping with affection, telling me there was an emergency at the firm and that I shouldn't wait up.

But there it was on the screen, glaring and undeniable.

[Samantha: Isn't she waiting for you tonight?]

[Bradley: I told her I had to work late.]

[Samantha: What time?]

[Bradley: Nine o'clock. The usual spot.]

My fingertips turned to ice.

All that time, back when I trusted him with my whole heart, they were already sleeping together.

Bradley’s face drained of color. He lunged for the MC’s microphone.

"This is fake! I have never had that kind of relationship with Samantha Russo!" his voice boomed over the speakers. "She... she had some inappropriate feelings for me in the past, yes, but I rejected her unequivocally! These texts are forged!"

Samantha immediately rushed to his side, her eyes already welling with perfect, tragic tears.

She looked directly into the crowd, seeking me out. "Samantha... I know you've always had a crush on Bradley, but this is my engagement party! Even if you hate me, how could you use something like this to destroy us?"

She paused, playing the victim with sickening perfection. "I don't blame you for liking him. But you can't just forge chat logs out of jealousy."

The whispers in the room escalated into a roar.

"Theft. Expulsion. Lost fellowship. Delusional unrequited love. Forgery. Ruining an engagement."

The name "Samantha Russo" was officially rotting in the mouths of the city's elite.

I stood watching the two of them on stage, and suddenly, clarity washed over me.

Bradley had just declared into a microphone that he had never touched Samantha.

Samantha had just declared that the text logs were forged by me.

To save their own skin tonight, they had personally blockaded every single exit route they had left.

But I couldn't bring myself to smile.

The crowd parted.

My mother marched toward me, her eyes rimmed with red. Without a word, she raised her hand and slapped me hard across the face.

My head snapped to the side. The metallic taste of blood instantly bloomed in my mouth.

I didn't dodge it.

My mother was trying to hit Samantha. But the person feeling the blinding sting of that strike... was me.

Her voice shook uncontrollably. "Samantha, what has the Beaumont family ever done to you? Eleanor treated you like a sister. We gave you everything! Why must you try to destroy her?"

I slowly raised my head and looked at her.

When I was eight years old and running a high fever, it was that exact hand that had rested against my forehead, checking my temperature over and over through the night.

And tonight, that hand had just struck me.

My father stepped up behind her. He stared at me in heavy, suffocating silence before speaking.

"As of today, the Beaumont family cuts all ties with you. Do not ever come near Eleanor again."

I swallowed the blood in my mouth.

"Okay."

I turned and walked toward the exit.

Just as I reached the ballroom doors, Samantha chased after me.

She blocked my path, the malicious triumph bleeding through her fake tears.

"Your fellowship is gone. You're drowning in debt. And now Richard and Margaret have thrown you out like trash."

She glanced back into the glittering room toward Bradley. "Even the man you loved the most thinks you're disgusting."

She leaned in, her breath hot against my ear, her voice trembling with sheer exhilaration.

"Eleanor Beaumont, I have entirely decimated your life."

I looked down at my phone screen.

"23:50."

Ten minutes left.

I didn't argue with her. I stepped around her and walked out into the cold night air.

Back in the hotel suite, the floor-to-ceiling windows reflected Samantha's face. The left cheek was swollen and red.

The digital clock on my phone ticked forward, second by agonizing second.

"23:59:58."

Samantha’s words echoed in my head: "I have entirely decimated your life."

"23:59:59."

The screen ticked to "00:00".

I looked at the face in the glass, and the corners of my mouth slowly curled up into a smile.

An instant later, a violent, familiar wave of vertigo slammed into me.

4.

The vertigo hit fast and hard.

It felt like two invisible hands had shoved the back of my skull. The ambient lighting of the hotel room shattered into blinding fragments.

When I opened my eyes again, the first thing that hit me was the scent of perfume.

It was the signature Chanel scent I had worn for years.

I looked down at my hands.

The skin was flawless and pale. My nails were manicured, dusted with crushed diamonds—the exact style Samantha had gotten done that afternoon for the gala.

I stared at my hands for a long time before slowly lifting my head.

In the mirror of the bridal suite, I saw my own face.

We had swapped back.

Thirty days. Not a day more, not a day less.

I stood rooted to the spot. A heavy, suffocating weight seemed to lodge in my throat, and it took a long time before I could finally exhale a shaky breath.

Right at that moment, the door to the bridal suite was pushed open.

Bradley walked in, his face dark with fury.

"Why are you hiding in here?"

He slammed the door shut, the sheer irritation of the ruined gala bleeding through his voice. "It's an absolute madhouse out there. Your dad has security trying to handle it. What the hell was with those screenshots? Didn't I tell you to wipe all your old backups clean?"

I just looked at him.

So this was how he spoke to Samantha behind closed doors.

Gone was the gentle, doting fiancé from the gala stage. Gone was the protective man who shielded her from champagne toasts.

There was only cold, impatient resentment that her mess might drag him down.

When I didn't answer, his brow furrowed.

"Samantha?"

I smiled.

"'Nine o'clock. The usual spot.'"

Bradley's face instantly froze.

I kept speaking. "You called me that day. You said there was an emergency at the firm. You told me not to wait up for dinner."

"Turns out, your 'corporate emergency' was fucking her."

He stared at me, the impatience in his eyes slowly morphing into shock, then sheer panic.

"What are you talking about?"

I didn't answer his question. Instead, I asked, "Bradley, was I really that stupid?"

"What the hell are you—"

"When you said you were working late, I believed you. When you said you were networking, I believed you. When you left your phone face-down on the table, it never even crossed my mind to check it. When you came home at 3 AM claiming you drank too much with clients, I woke up and made you hangover soup."

Watching the color drain completely from his face, I suddenly found the whole thing hilarious.

"It wasn't that you were some master manipulator."

"It’s just that I never, ever suspected you."

He took a step back, as if finally realizing who was standing in front of him.

"Eleanor...?"

Hearing my name come out of his mouth suddenly made me feel nauseous.

Footsteps hurried down the hall.

My mother rushed into the room. Seeing me standing there unharmed, she let out an instinctive sigh of relief.

"Ellie, why did you run off in here all alone?"

She stepped forward, reaching out to grab my hand.

I instinctively flinched, taking a sharp step backward.

Her hand hovered awkwardly in the empty air.

I looked at her. My left cheek felt like it was still burning from the slap.

Even though the face I was wearing now was flawless and untouched, my soul remembered the pain.

My mother looked bewildered. "What's wrong?"

My father walked in right behind her.

"Let's deal with tonight's mess when we get home. As for Samantha, don't ever let that girl near you again."

I didn't move.

"Dad."

He stopped.

It must have been the tone of my voice. I hadn't called him that in exactly thirty days.

"Out there, in the ballroom," I said quietly, "you said that as of today, the Beaumont family was cutting all ties with Samantha."

My father frowned. "Why are you bringing that up now?"

"And Mom... Mom slapped her."

The expression on my mother's face tightened.

"Ellie, I know you have a soft heart. But she crossed every line tonight. She stole from you, she ruined your engagement, and—"

"It hurt."

Her voice cut off instantly.

I looked directly into her eyes.

"That slap. It hurt. A lot."

The room fell into a dead, terrifying silence.

My mother stared at me, uncomprehending.

I raised a trembling hand and gently touched my own left cheek.

"Mom. For the last thirty days, the person who just took that slap from you... was me."

The last remnants of color vanished from her face.

My father’s head snapped up.

Bradley was the first to speak. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means exactly what I said." I looked at all three of them.

"Samantha swapped bodies with me."

"For the past thirty days, the person living in the estate, using Samantha's name, paying her debts... has been me."

"The person you’re looking at right now, the one who was in this body before midnight... was Samantha."

No one breathed.

After several long seconds, my father spoke, his voice dangerously low. "Eleanor. Do not make jokes like this."

I knew they wouldn't believe me right away.

In my last life, I had screamed and cried this truth until my throat bled, and they hadn't believed a word.

So this time, I wasn't in a rush to panic.

"When I was eight, I had a severe fever. Mom, you stayed with me in the hospital all night. At three in the morning, I was crying because the fluorescent lights in the hallway were too bright, and I couldn't sleep. You took off your own silk scarf and tied it over my eyes like a blindfold."

I locked eyes with my mother.

"That scarf was powder blue. It had a tiny 'M' embroidered in the corner. Grandma gave it to you."

My mother's lips parted, trembling.

"When I was twelve, I got lost in the city. Dad, you didn't find me until past midnight. I cried the entire drive home. You turned to me in the backseat and said—"

I paused.

My father's breathing had gone shallow and ragged.

"'As long as you come back to us, nothing else matters. No matter how big of a mistake you make in the future, just come home first.'"

No one else in the world knew about that conversation.

I kept going. "When I got my first period at sixteen, I was terrified to tell anyone. Mom, you woke up at 2 AM to show me how to use a pad. On my eighteenth birthday, when Dad bought me that pink diamond at the auction, I told you it was too expensive and begged you to return it. You told me a daughter only turns eighteen once in her life."

Tears suddenly spilled over my mother’s eyelashes.

She reached out, wanting to touch me, but she was too terrified to close the distance.

"Ellie..."

"And then there were the last thirty days," I cut her off, my voice terrifyingly calm.

"When the diamond was found in my suitcase, you asked Samantha how the Beaumont family had ever wronged her."

"Dad, you tried to save her fellowship. You offered to pay off her $250,000 debt."

"In Dr. Wallace’s office, the thesis draft sitting on the top of his desk was from her sophomore year. The third page was covered in red ink."

"The Samantha who was living inside this wealthy body didn't know any of those things."

"Because during that time, she was trapped in my body."

My father stood frozen in silence. His face looked ashen, aged ten years in a matter of seconds.

Bradley, grasping at straws, suddenly stammered, "Wait. Out there... in the hallway..."

"That was me, too."

I looked at him with utter disgust.

"When you announced to the room that Samantha had been stalking you... you were saying it right to my face."

The blood completely drained from his lips.

My mother’s knees buckled. She stumbled backward, catching herself on the arm of the velvet sofa to keep from collapsing.

"So... so the girl I just hit..."

"Was me."

A violent sob ripped from her throat as she broke down weeping.

I looked away.

Just a few hours ago, seeing her cry would have broken my heart.

But now? It didn't hurt as much.

Some things make a lot of noise when they shatter.

But once they are completely broken into dust, there is only silence.

5.

At that exact moment, across town in a mid-range hotel.

Samantha woke up on the carpet.