She changes names like seasons. Cities like outfits. And her memories? About as reliable as expired yogurt. Liora isn't your average girl-next-door. Unless your neighbor is secretly a fugitive with no past, a suitcase full of fake IDs, and a talent for vanishing when things get slightly too murdery. She doesn't know who she really is. She doesn't know what she's running from. But she does know this: stay hidden, stay alive. No friends. No feelings. No screw-ups. (And definitely no cute strangers who look like trouble in tailored suits.) Because someone's after her. Someone who knows things. Things she's spent her whole life trying not to remember. She dreams of normal-whatever that means. Maybe a cat. A cozy apartment. A life that doesn't involve dodging death before breakfast. But every time she thinks she's safe? Boom. Plot twist. The shadows are creeping closer. The truth is catching up. And Liora? She's just trying not to die with bad hair. --- P.S. This story's from the chaotic vaults of my teenage writer brain-dramatic, messy, unhinged, and lowkey my favorite thing ever. If you're even slightly entertained, leave a comment, scream into the void, or aggressively vote. Your support = life force.