You’d survived it. Somehow. Clawed your way through the games, the hunts, the endless torment. Only to end up… here?

Wherever “here” was.

Your eyelids fluttered open, heavy and reluctant. A dimly lit room resolved around you. High ceilings arched overhead, adorned with intricate crown molding that probably cost more than your entire life savings. The walls were paneled in dark, polished wood, lined with shelves of leather-bound books that looked like they’d never been touched—props for a man who pretended to have depth.

You were lying on a chaise lounge upholstered in deep burgundy velvet. The air smelled of old paper, expensive whiskey, and a faint, cloying cologne.

Voices pierced the fog, sharp and heated, filtering through a partially ajar door across the room.