“How much do you remember?”

“I—” she starts and stops.

I don’t remember anything, she is going to say, I don’t remember my name, or my age, or my parents, or my past. I don’t remember what I’m here for, or even how did I get here even in the first place. The only thing I know is that I’ve to get away from you, but I don’t understand why.

Instead, she looks around, studying the blue-and-ivory swirl of pattern of the sofa she is sitting on.

“I’ve been in this place before.”