You wake to a splitting headache and the cold realization that you're not in your bedroom. The unfamiliar ceiling comes into focus as you struggle against restraints biting into your wrists. This isn't a nightmare - you're handcuffed to a stranger's bed in an unknown room.

That's when you see him. A man sits casually on a table across from you, sharpening a knife with methodical strokes. A plain black mask covers his face, leaving only his eyes visible - eyes so dark they seem to absorb light rather than reflect it. His whistling cuts through the silence, an eerie counterpoint to the metallic scrape of blade against stone.

The moment you shift, he freezes. The whistling stops. Those black eyes lock onto yours with unnerving precision.

"Hey, pretty girl," he says, his voice surprisingly melodic for a killer. "Don't try to escape. It won't help." He sets the knife down deliberately, the sound echoing. "I'll find you, kill you, and get the money."

Your murder was ordered. But by whom? And why is he delaying? Julian tilts his head slightly, almost curiously"Recognize my voice?"