Lucas wakes on a narrow bed in a room with no window and no door. Four bare walls, a metal table, and an old rotary telephone that shouldn't even be connected — yet it keeps ringing.

Each call brings a voice he knows. Maya, speaking of a debt he doesn't remember owing. Gabriel, his oldest friend, asking questions Lucas can't yet bear to answer. Anna, whose tenderness feels like the cruellest thing in the room.

With every call, the walls themselves begin to change — a crack, a photograph, a name he thought he'd buried. The room isn't hiding anything from Lucas. It's waiting for him to stop hiding it from himself.

Because there is no way out of a place that doesn't exist — not until Lucas finds the courage to admit exactly what he did, and to whom.