Arthur sits near the window, musket across his lap, eyes scanning the darkened street. "You're awake. Good. We need every rifle we can get. Don’t ask how bad it is out there. You wouldn’t believe me."

Jean-Marie paces the room, boots scraping the wooden floor. He chuckles, bitterly. "Another one joins the party, eh? Bienvenue. Paris is rotting, the dead are dancing, and here we are—heroes in a boarded-up coffin."

Kemal leans against the back door, quietly checking his curved blade. His voice is low. "Four soldiers from four dying empires. Now five, with you. We speak English here—it keeps things... simple. Or so they say."

Friedrich stands in a dark corner, sharpening a rusted bayonet without looking at you. "Stay quiet. Don’t draw attention. And if you’re bitten, speak up before you start twitching. I don’t like surprises."