The grand dining room looked like it had been pulled from a forgotten century — long mahogany table gleaming under an old chandelier, its light golden and low. Crystal glasses shimmered in front of every seat. A fireplace crackled near the far wall, but it didn't do much to warm the room.
One by one, the guests arrived. Their footsteps echoed slightly on the polished floor as they settled into their places. None of them spoke at first — just glanced at one another and then toward the empty head of the table.
Leo leaned in slightly, whispering, "Is Ellis fashionably late to his own hotel?"
Vera smirked, swirling water in her glass. "Wouldn't be surprised if he only comes out at midnight. Like a cursed bellhop."
Mason gave a quiet grunt, arms folded, still not touching the utensils.
"I assumed he'd be here," Ivy said, eyeing the seat Ellis should've been in.
The table was already set with rich dishes — steak, glazed vegetables, fine sauces, some things they didn't recognize immediately. Everything was plated like a painting. The kind of luxury that felt... a little too perfect.
Eventually, they began eating. First a bite, then more, the silence between them slowly filled with the clinking of silverware.
It was Leo who spoke first, chewing slowly. "This is... good. But not beef, right?"
Vera nodded, brows furrowed. "Yeah. I was thinking the same. The texture's... softer. Richer? But not like lamb either."
Mason kept chewing, slower now. He set his fork down. "Tastes wild. Not farmed. Game meat, maybe?"
Ivy's face twisted slightly. "It's throwing me off. There's this... iron taste. You feel it in your teeth."
They all looked toward Asha, as if expecting her to give a name to it — to ease the tension creeping up from their palates to their minds.
She smiled gently, dabbing the corner of her mouth with her napkin.
"It's probably just the preparation," she said smoothly. "Certain herbs can alter flavor profiles significantly. Especially if it's a rarer meat — elk, maybe. Or venison."
But as she spoke, her tongue paused at the back of her teeth, and her eyes flicked down to the cut on her plate.
The meat was... warm in a strange way.
Almost alive with flavor — but not in any way she could describe.
It clung to the roof of her mouth.
Still, she swallowed.
Still, she smiled.
_ _ _
The clinking of silverware faded as the last plates were cleared of food The guests leaned back, a mix of curiosity and unease simmering just beneath the surface of their full stomachs.
Then, once again, the soft crackle overhead.
The PA system whispered to life.
> "Dear guests of Hollowpine," came Ellis's voice — calm, warm, and slightly distorted by the old speakers. "We hope you enjoyed tonight's dinner. Now that you've tasted our hospitality..."
A pause. A beat too long.
"…we invite you to explore your home for the coming days. Feel free to roam the halls, discover the beauty hidden within. You'll find a lounge and cafeteria just down the eastern corridor, our charming kitchen through the west wing, and several reading and music rooms scattered throughout. The hotel is yours tonight — enjoy the silence."
The message clicked off.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Leo stood, smirking "Well... 'explore the beauty hidden within'? That's basically permission to snoop, right?"
Vera raised a brow, rising from her seat. "Is it just me, or did that sound like the start of a horror movie?"
Asha chuckled softly. "He's being hospitable. Old hotels are full of history. Might be fun."
The three of them drifted out toward the east wing, where warm lighting led into the cafeteria and lounge. Footsteps soft on velvet carpets, shadows stretching beside them like tall, silent companions.
Ivy remained seated a moment longer, then slowly rose, watching the door the others disappeared through.
Mason stood beside her, saying nothing — his gaze already following the opposite corridor.
"I just want to see what this place is hiding," Ivy muttered, more to herself than him.
He didn't answer. But when she moved, so did he, keeping close — not protectively, just watchfully.
They slipped into the west wing, toward the kitchen.
_ _ _
Ivy & Mason
The kitchen was pristine — too pristine.
Stainless steel counters gleamed under sterile lights. The fridge door groaned open with a hiss, revealing ordinary contents: vegetables stacked in clear bins, milk bottles lined up like soldiers, even labeled containers of marinated meats.
Mason raised a brow. "Nothing weird here."
Ivy scanned the space, eyes sharp. "That doesn't mean anything."
Near the back wall was a locked door — heavy, silver, industrial. She reached for the handle and jiggled it. Locked.
She crouched slightly, pulling a slim hairpin from her back pocket.
Mason blinked. "Seriously?"
Ivy didn't look up as the pin clicked in her fingers.
> "Comes with the job. Crime scenes don't unlock themselves."
He raised an eyebrow, following her in. "So... you work with the police or something?"
She shook her head.
> "Not officially. I specialize in forensic psychology."
A pause.
"Crime scenes mostly."
Inside, the air was sharp and metallic. Hanging along iron hooks were lamb carcasses — rows of them swaying gently in the cold-room draft. A soft buzz of machinery hummed from above.
They stepped in cautiously.
Then Mason stopped.
Near the far corner was a tall, black trash bin. It wasn't covered.
And something stuck out.
He moved forward and pulled it back.
Bones.
Longer than they should be. Thinner. Not animal.
Human.
One had a bracelet — and fresh blood on it.
More human bones rested beside it.
Ivy staggered back, hand over her mouth. "No—no way."
Mason's jaw clenched, staring down at the garbage.
"What the hell did we eat?"
He stumbled back, turned, and retched onto the cold concrete floor.
_ _ _
Meanwhile Leo, Vera, and Asha are in the Cafeteria
The east wing curved into a long hallway lit by flickering sconces, the walls lined with antique portraits that watched from under layers of dust. At the end of it, a pair of wooden double doors stood half-open — behind them, the cafeteria.
Inside, the atmosphere shifted. Velvet wallpaper peeled slightly at the corners. A chandelier hung overhead, swaying just enough to creak. The cafeteria looked like something out of an old asylum — spotless white tiles, rows of polished tables, and a long counter lined with covered trays. A mannequin stood behind it, dressed like a cafeteria worker from the 1950s, hands frozen mid-motion as if about to serve.
> "That's not creepy at all," Leo muttered, stepping in.
Bottles of juice and unopened milk cartons rested neatly in fridges along the side. A plastic menu board overhead listed meals like Meatloaf – Mashed Potatoes – Baked Beans in perfect chalked handwriting, eerily preserved.
Leo sat at one of the tables with a half-drunk cup of something vaguely sweet. Asha leaned against the wall, watching him with a polite smile, her tone warm and open.
Vera moved toward the back of the cafeteria , her camera hanging loosely from her neck. She crouched down, opening a large cabinet. Papers sat inside — aged documents curled at the edges, a few blueprints showing rough layouts of the hotel. Her fingers brushed over them.
Beneath one folded blueprint, she found a pile of IDs. Different names. Different faces. Different states.
Her brows pulled together. She laid them out on the counter. Some were cracked or bent. Most had expired.
> "Guys," she called, staring down at the plastic cards. "These aren't ours. And they're... old."
Leo leaned in, a drink in hand.
> "Previous guests?" he guessed. "Or maybe props?"
> "There's nothing staged about this place," Vera muttered.
Asha approached quietly, her gaze flicking over the papers without much surprise.
> "Are those building permits?" she asked. "Let me see."
> "Sort of. No signatures. Just outlines. Look—the basement's blacked out. Like, literally scratched away."
Asha lingered by the counter.
> "I realized I never properly introduced myself," she said, her tone warm. "I'm Dr. Asha Reim. Used to work in clinical psych."
> "Oh. Psychology?" Leo said, raising a brow.
> "Yeah. I specialized in behavioral patterns. It helps in places like this."
> "Huh," Leo nodded. "I work in media. Children's television, actually. Comedy. Puppets and silly voices. That kind of thing."
> "Explains the energy," Asha said with a grin.
> "And you?" Leo asked, turning to Vera.
> "Photographer. Documentaries, mostly. But this place... there's something off."
She stared again at the IDs. One had a bloodstain. Faint, but there.
The cafeteria fell quiet.