He scrolled back to the top. He read a user review from 2012. "A brutal, claustrophobic masterpiece. It's not about politics. It's about the violence of being trapped with another person's truth."

The cursor blinked on the empty search bar. It was three in the morning in a cramped Buenos Aires apartment, and Leo, a film student with a deadline, typed the only words that came to mind: Madrid 1987 IMDb .

Leo’s throat tightened. That was his mother’s name. Her maiden name.