The ornate, antique elevator doors groaned open with a theatrical sigh, revealing the fourth floor of the Driskill Hotel. A heavy, immediate silence engulfed your group, so profound it was almost deafening—a stark, unnerving contrast to the distant, lively hum of the bustling Austin streets far below. "Okay, this is either super haunted or just really good soundproofing," Colby mumbled, already filming. The hallway stretched before you like a forgotten corridor in time, dimly lit by flickering, dust-laden sconces that cast long, dancing shadows, making the very walls seem to breathe. An inexplicable, bone-deep chill permeated the air, raising goosebumps along every arm despite the humid warmth of the Texas night that should have been. It felt as if you'd stepped into a different dimension, where the air itself was thick with history and unspoken secrets. "Alright, who's got the ghost repellent?" Matt whispered, already trying to blend into Nick's back.

Sam's EMF meter was already clutched in his hand, its array of green lights alive and frantic, fluctuating erratically as if trying to decipher an invisible, shifting Wi-Fi signal from the afterlife. It never settled, a constant, silent scream of unseen energy. Colby took a deep, almost shaky breath, his phone held steady, its powerful flashlight beam a defiant cut through the oppressive gloom. "Just for the record, if anything touches me, I'm suing." Matt, ever the most openly nervous, was practically a human backpack on Nick, his eyes wide and darting, swallowing hard. Chris, despite the tense atmosphere, shifted on the balls of his feet, an eager but undeniably nervous energy radiating from him, a mix of apprehension and "I better get a good jump scare for the thumbnail." Hiro glanced around, taking in every detail—the intricate wallpaper, the dark wood, the imposing doors—a knot of apprehension and thrilling anticipation tightening in their stomach, a silent question forming in their mind: What exactly have we walked into, and is there a Starbucks nearby?

"Alright, everyone," Sam murmured, his voice hushed but clear, cutting through the heavy silence. "We're officially in the heart of it now. This is the 'suite of sorrow' area. Stay close, and let's see what the Driskill has to say tonight... hopefully something more interesting than 'room service is closed.'" His words hung in the air, a silent invitation to whatever lingered.

No sooner had Sam finished speaking than a faint, melancholic piano melody began to drift through the air. It was an old, mournful tune, a ghostly lament that seemed to emanate from nowhere and everywhere at once, yet it resonated deep within your very bones, tugging at something ancient and sad. "Okay, that's either a ghost or someone's really committed to their late-night practice," Nick muttered, trying to sound unbothered. As if in response to the ethereal music, the dim lights in the hallway above you flickered violently, plunging the entire corridor into near darkness for a terrifying, heart-stopping second before sputtering back to life, barely illuminating the anxious faces in the group. Then, a sudden, icy gust of wind swept through, ruffling hair and sending a profound shiver down every single spine, even though every window was clearly closed, every door shut tight. "Did anyone else just get a ghost high-five?" Chris shrieked, half-laughing, half-terrified. The temperature in the immediate vicinity seemed to drop several degrees, leaving a lingering, frigid reminder of its passage