03:33

The television is already on when I get home. I do not use my real name. The people who call late at night know me as Morningstar. I sell. I numb. I keep my distance from the consequences—until that distance disappears. *Fallen Angels* is a novel about cannabis, addiction and guilt. About Tom, who suddenly appears in the apartment and knows things he should not know. About a night at Valby Station that I cannot remember clearly—and cannot let go of. Reality begins to shift. People pass by twice. Messages appear and disappear. Time folds in on itself around 3:33 a.m., and slowly I realise that I cannot escape the only person still following me: myself. When I wake up on a locked psychiatric ward, the people I once saw only as customers become impossible to keep at a distance. Their stories force me to confront what I sold, what I lost, and the lies I still tell myself—without looking away. No grand answers. Only white corridors, plastic chairs, coffee that tastes like brown sludge, and the question of whether I truly want to be saved—or merely survive one more day.