If you lost your body every time you lost your temper — and woke up in someone else's — would you still be you? My father used to tell me it's like a memory card going into a new camera. New lens, new hands, new face in the mirror every time. But the part that remembers, the part that's actually “you” — that stays the same. I've believed him for most of my life, because the alternative is worse: that there's nothing under all these borrowed bodies at all. Just a habit of waking up. Yesterday I was something with claws. Today, something new — and something's already wrong with this one. A mark I didn't put there. A name that isn't mine, coming from people who very much wish it still belonged to somebody else. I don't pick the bodies. I don't pick what they come wearing, either. And tonight, whatever's in this one isn't finished being found. The King of No-One — a post-apocalyptic thriller about a man who can't stay one person for longer than his temper lasts, and the night his borrowed skin finally comes with a price tag. *New chapters weekly*