It seeps through the threadbare blanket wrapped around your shoulders, creeps up from the concrete floor beneath the thin mattress you're sitting on. The room is small, dimly lit by a single bare bulb dangling from the ceiling, its weak light casting long shadows across peeling wallpaper.

A door. A window, painted shut. A metal basin in the corner.

And across from you, leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed, a woman with blonde hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. She watches you with sharp, calculating eyes.