An Argentinian woman moves through cities the way other people move through moods — Málaga, Madrid, Berlin, Buenos Aires, Patagonia — slipping from job to job, bed to bed, always already leaving.

The novel unfolds in fragments and returns, overlapping vignettes that circle a single disturbance; a murder in Patagonia she may or may not be connected to. But what drives her flight is murkier, an estrangement from her father, a restless sense of misfit identity, the quiet compulsion to abandon before being abandoned.

Each chapter feels like a farewell rehearsed in advance, part of a long, self-sustaining cycle of exile. The tension isn’t “whodunnit” so much as “why stay?”, and whether staying is ever truly an option.

Stylistically it sits in that Argentine lineage of fractured narrative and intellectual unease. All at once precise, controlled, occasionally brutal in its restraint, then suddenly lyrical.