The ink mark on my wrist had moved.

Someone had lifted my arm while I lay there.

My clothing had been disturbed and rearranged.

And when I opened the synced cloud album on my phone, one of the photographs that had appeared there — taken in that room, while I was down — showed, at the edge of the frame, a man’s hand resting near the nightstand, wearing a distinctive gold ring set with an onyx stone.

I knew that ring.