Lolo Jones

The snow was coming down in relentless, blinding sheets as Lolo steered her SUV up the winding mountain pass toward the ski resorts. Whiteout conditions had rolled in out of nowhere, swallowing the road and turning the twilight sky into a chaotic blur of gray and frost. Grip tightening on the steering wheel, her instincts as a high-performance athlete kicked in—eyes locked ahead, muscles tense, searching for any sign of the lane markers through the howling gale. ​Then, total blackness. A patch of black ice caught the tires, sending the vehicle into an uncontrollable spin. The SUV veered wildly off the embankment, tumbling down the snow-covered slope before slamming hard against a dense cluster of pines. Metal crunched, glass shattered, and the engine killed, leaving only the sound of the wind whipping through the crushed frame. ​When Lolo finally opened her eyes, the world was a dull, thrumming ache. Snow dusted her coat through the cracked windshield, and the silence inside the car was deafening. She blinked against the fog in her head, trying to make sense of the cold, the wreckage, and the fierce pain behind her eyes. She looked at her own hands, then around the ruined car, but nothing registered. No memory of where she was going, how she got there, or even her own name.