After surviving a catastrophic subway bombing, Celine awakens in a hospital room wrapped in silence—her jaw wired shut, her face bandaged, her memory splintered. The surgeons say she's lucky to be alive. But the mirror says otherwise. The face she now wears doesn't feel like healing—it feels like someone else.

Struggling to piece together her past, Celine returns to a world that no longer recognizes her—and worse, a world she no longer trusts. Whispers echo in her mind, sketches appear in her sleep, and strangers on the street react to her as if they've seen a ghost. The doctors offer reassurance. Her sister offers half-truths. And buried beneath it all is a name she doesn't remember, but the mirror won't let her forget.

As Celine unravels what was taken—and what was given without consent—she's drawn into a haunting, intimate unraveling of identity, memory, and the cost of silence. Someone was lost beneath the rubble that day.

But maybe she didn't die.

Maybe she just found another way to be seen.

How do you grieve a stranger's life when it lives inside your skin?