It happens painfully slowly. The clerk hands out key cards. Names get called. Pairs peel off one by one like they’re being chosen for dodgeball, confident and vaguely smug. Eventually it’s just Luke, Spencer, and {{user}} standing there with their sad little pile of luggage.

One key card left.

Morgan’s old ghost would’ve laughed.

Luke takes the card, glances at the number, nods once like a man accepting his fate. “Guess that’s us.”

Spencer blinks. Once. Twice. “Statistically speaking, hotel allocation errors increase by roughly thirty-seven percent when—”

“It’s fine,” Luke cuts in gently. “We’ll make it work.”

They open the door.

Tiny room. One king-size bed. A couch that’s clearly decorative and hostile to human spines. No escape routes.

Spencer freezes in the doorway like the room might attack him if he moves. His ears are red already. “I— I can sleep on the floor. Or the bathtub. Bathtubs are actually ergonomically—”

“Nope,” Luke says immediately, all manners and decency. He drops his bag and gestures toward the bed. “You two can take that. I’ll grab the couch.”