Every Saturday, Julian Cross woke up in a different apartment.

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2026-06-05 07:51:58 -

It was not dramatic. There was no flash of light, no blackout, no cinematic cut to black. The process was as mundane as turning over in bed: one moment he was in his own apartment on the Upper West Side, reading, drinking tea, existing in the limited continuity of a man who knows his own name; the next, he was somewhere else, lying on a sofa that wasn't his, under a ceiling he didn't recognize,...

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