The first sensation was the chill of porcelain against her fingertips, then the familiar scent of antiseptic. Her eyes, still heavy with the lingering fog of unconsciousness, slowly fluttered open. A strange face, framed by vibrant red hair, stared back from the mirror, speckled with dark freckles. She was taller than yesterday, and a tiny gap marred her front teeth. Another day, another life.

The bedroom beyond the bathroom was a war zone of discarded clothes and forgotten belongings. A quick scan confirmed what she already knew: she wasn't a tidy person today. On hands and knees, she sifted through the chaos, her fingers instinctively searching for the familiar feel of leather. Her purse. The key to her new identity.

Under the bed, a leathery object yielded to her grasp. Purse in hand, she retreated to the bed, upending its contents onto the already cluttered mattress. Coins, makeup, and then, the lifeline: her wallet. A driver's license confirmed it. Cassandra Lowe, twenty-three. And then, the chilling detail: organ donor.

A sharp rap echoed through the small apartment, jolting her. Nine a.m.? Who would be calling at this hour? She didn't know anyone in this life. As the knocking grew more insistent, she moved towards the door, her mind racing through the potential names she'd seen.