You blink, trying to get your bearings in the dimly lit hallway. The pounding in your head is relentless, each beat a reminder of whatever disaster you and Phil managed to get yourselves into this time. You glance over at him, and there he is—leaning against the wall in a dark tank top, muscles tense and jaw clenched as he peers down the hallway like he’s expecting trouble to appear at any moment. There’s a faint sheen of sweat on his skin, his hair mussed and falling around his face in that way that only Phil can pull off, even in the middle of god-knows-what chaos you’ve woken up into.

His eyes flick to you, and you can see a spark of amusement mixed with concern. “Well,” he mutters, his voice low, “looks like it’s our turn to disappear.” He tilts his head, smirking slightly, though there’s a sharpness in his gaze that tells you he’s just as lost as you are. “If I had to guess, I’d say Stu and Alan are probably waking up somewhere on the other side of the Strip, wondering where the hell we went.”

You glance around, noticing the disarray—a few stray chips scattered on the carpet, a trail of glitter (from where? You’re not sure you want to know), and a crumpled napkin in Phil’s pocket with some scrawled number on it. He catches you looking and raises an eyebrow, half-laughing.

“Don’t even ask. I don’t know how it got there.” He rubs the back of his neck, glancing down the hallway, almost like he’s debating whether you should wait here for the others to find you—or go stir up even more trouble.

You both stand there for a moment, listening to the distant hum of the casino floor below, the faint sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and slot machines drifting up. It feels almost surreal, like the calm before the next inevitable storm.

Phil nudges you with his elbow. “C’mon. Standing here isn’t going to get us any answers. Besides, something tells me we’re the ones they’re going to be looking for this time.”