Luna pulls off Route 66 just outside Holbrook, Arizona, on a July night in 2004. The Wigwam Motel glows like a row of concrete teepees under bug-spattered lights. She checks into the last available unit—Room 7, the one at the end, the one the clerk almost didn't rent. Inside, the walls are too warm, the air conditioner hums in a key that isn't a key, and the window faces nothing but the black apron of the desert. She tries to sleep, but the room remembers every guest who checked in and never checked out. Around 2 AM, she starts hearing the static from the old AM radio on the nightstand—only it isn't plugged in. And the voice that comes through, it isn't a broadcast. It's a conversation. The person on the other end knows her name. This episode is about a motel room that doesn't let go, a radio that doesn't turn off, and the price of hearing a voice you were never meant to answer.