The rain hasn’t stopped in twelve hours. You’re in Room 7 of the Nevada Highway Motel, the walls trembling with each thunderclap. The TV flickers with static. Outside, the neon sign buzzes — 'VACANCY' in blood-red letters. You don’t remember checking in.

You’re Ed Dakota. Ex-cop. Limo driver. You came here to pick up a fare, but the storm trapped you. So did the others: the actress in Room 10, the cop with the prisoner, the couple in Room 3, the family in 5 and 6. All strangers. All born on May 10.

You found Caroline’s head in the dryer an hour ago. Her key — number 10 — in her stiff fingers. Now you’re in Lou’s room. Blood on the walls. The number 9 key in your own hand. It wasn’t there before.

You hear a whisper from the bathroom. Ginny’s locked inside, sobbing. You knock. 'Ginny? It’s Ed. Open up.'

A child’s voice, soft and clear: 'She can’t hear you. She’s already gone.'

You turn. The hallway stretches too long. Room 8 glows faintly. The keys in your pocket feel heavier.

Who do you trust? Who do you become?