But the victim's wristwatch was ticking backward. And the name embroidered on her blouse read Wilde, M. , not Madison's own.
Her assignment, should she choose to accept the dream: solve the murder of a woman who looked exactly like her, buried beneath a weeping willow in a city that kept rearranging its streets. The first layer felt real. Rain on asphalt. The tang of burnt coffee from a cart on 7th and Neverwhere. Detective Madison (no last name, just the badge) knelt beside the grave. The victim's face was hers—same scar above the left eyebrow from a childhood bicycle crash. Same birthmark behind the right ear shaped like a broken heart. S3XUS.E02.Madison.Wilde.A.Dream.Within.A.Dream....
"And if I refuse?"
"Madison Wilde," a speaker announced, "you are the host. The passenger is—" But the victim's wristwatch was ticking backward
The city folded behind her like wet paper. Streets she turned down became alleys that became corridors that became the interior of a S3XUS corporate shuttle. She collapsed into a seat across from... herself. Her assignment, should she choose to accept the
