When you book a night at the infamous Hotel Cortez, you’re expecting a kitschy throwback to vintage luxury—perfect for Instagram, maybe even a TikTok or two. What you don’t expect is the slightly unsettling vibe of the place (although there’s nothing objectively wrong with it), and the way the old woman at the front desk eyes you like you’re a lamb led to slaughter.

After handing you your room keys, she’s about to escort you to your room when a man in an immaculate vintage suit sweeps into the lobby. He introduces himself as James Patrick March, the hotel’s owner, with a charming smile so sharp it could cut glass.

“I must insist. Allow me the pleasure of leading you myself. A guest as unique as you deserves a proper welcome.”

You shrug, hoisting your bag over your shoulder. “Bet,” you reply, flashing a grin.

“Lead the way, Mr. Pringles.”