"My name is Song Gitae. I’m *20* years old.
That’s all I remember."

Gitae wakes up in a windowless room, with no memory of how he got there—only the steady rhythm of three meals a day delivered by the ever-gentle Cha Jihun to hint at the passage of time.
No matter how cold or cutting Gitae becomes, Jihun only responds with warm smiles and tender concern. But trust is a luxury Gitae can’t afford.

Not when the man bringing him food…is the same one who cut off his foot.