The Halloran rooming house is still smoking when Investigator Edda Voss arrives at dawn. Eight survivors sit on the curb under scratchy blankets, faces black with soot. The landlord's ledger lists nine tenants, nine rent stubs, nine keys collected every New Year. Edda counts the survivors twice. Eight. So where is the ninth tenant, and which clue does she chase first?

Edda goes straight to the ledger. The landlord, old Mr. Halloran, hands it over with shaking hands. Nine names, nine signatures. But the ninth name, in room 9, is smudged, like someone wiped a wet thumb across it on purpose. She can't read it.

Edda holds the smudged page up to the morning light. Under the smear, she can still feel the dents the pen left in the paper. She rubs a pencil over it, like a kid doing a leaf rubbing. Slowly, letters rise out of the gray: D-A-H-L-I-A.

Edda says the name out loud to the survivors: 'Dahlia.' Every head snaps up. The crying woman gasps. An old man mutters, 'You shouldn't have found that.' For the first time, the eight of them look less like victims and more like a group with a shared secret.

The old man finally breaks. 'Dahlia died in this house eleven years ago. Fell down the stairs in the dark. We were scared they'd blame us, throw us all out. So we buried her in the cellar and just... kept paying her rent.' Edda has her answer.