What would you do if the only thing standing between you and oblivion was solving a murder—but you couldn't remember committing it? Stuart Turton drops us onto an island where one hundred and twenty-two villagers live in seeming paradise, guided by three scientists who keep them safe from the fog that devoured the rest of humanity. They fish, they farm, they follow the rules. It's peaceful, orderly, almost too perfect—until one of the scientists is found stabbed to death, and everything unravels. Here's the twist that makes this so deliciously tense: the murder has triggered the island's security system to fail, and the deadly fog will consume them all in 107 hours unless the killer is found. But the system has also erased everyone's memories of the night before. Someone among them is a murderer, and they don't even know it. Turton builds a ticking-clock thriller that's equal parts locked-room mystery and dystopian nightmare, where the stakes couldn't be higher and trust is a luxury no one can afford. The clock is ticking, the fog is closing in, and the truth is buried somewhere in the gaps of what no one can remember. This is survival stripped down to its most primal question: who do you believe when you can't even trust yourself?