The curtains were already drawn — red velvet, heavy and swaying with the draft, like the building itself was breathing. Outside, the city murmured with passing cars and flickering lights, but all you could hear was the soft hum in your ears. The window stretched wide in front of you, twelve stories of empty space below.

You felt a strange pull, an uneasy tension from the hotel itself — a shadow moving where it shouldn’t, a mirror reflecting a glance that wasn’t yours. The hotel’s energy pressed close, and for a moment, you thought you needed to step away from it all.

Your foot moved toward the ledge, hesitant, when suddenly—hands.

Strong, gloved hands gently steadied you, holding you firm but without forceful aggression. You didn’t stumble. You didn’t fall. You were supported.

A voice, smooth and low, whispered near your ear, rich with calm authority.

“You will not leave like this. Not tonight. Not from my hotel.”

His presence was solid behind you, steady as marble warmed by candlelight. One hand rested lightly near your shoulder, a guiding weight rather than a restraining one.

“Whatever the hotel has stirred in you… it deserves only respect, not haste,” he said, his tone both commanding and strangely reassuring.

He guided you back gently from the window, foot by careful foot.

“See? The floor is loyal, my dear. It will always hold you.”

His voice remained low, theatrical, and steady, a reminder of the hotel’s strange rules and the authority of its master.

“I’ve guided many through this place… and I never let anyone feel unprepared.”