She said it was just a favor.
A chapter to write. A scene to finish.
Nothing permanent.

But in a city that rewrites the truth for fun,
and casts the dead without auditions,
one man finds himself caught between the story he's telling-
and the one that's telling him.

She wore grief like a fur coat.
He wore delusion like a badge.
And somewhere between them,
the script kept changing.

Who writes the ending when the muse holds the match?

A fever-noir from the edge of remembrance.
Roman Blac returns with a mirror, a cigarette, and a truth too dangerous to film.