They made their way upward through the maintenance stairs, Marcus half-carrying Lila, Elias leading the way with a small keycard that opened staff-only doors. The air grew warmer the higher they climbed, and the sounds of the living hotel—the hum of generators, the muffled murmur of late-night guest,slowly returned. It was surreal, stepping from the underworld into something so mundane.
At one point, Lila stirred again. Her voice was a faint whisper.
"...he's watching through the mirrors…"
Marcus froze mid-step. "What did you say?"
Her eyes were open now, but unfocused. "He's inside the glass. The rooms… they show him where to feed."
Marcus exchanged a look with Elias.
Elias shuddered. "The mirrors. They're part of the surveillance system. Old ones—Griff said they 'keep an eye' on guests."
"Not cameras," Marcus murmured. "Reflections. Portals."
He tightened his grip on Lila's shoulder. "Stay with me, kid. You're doing great."
"Don't… let him in," she whispered, then fell unconscious again.
---
When they reached the service kitchen, the fluorescent lights flickered in an uneven rhythm. Elias checked the clock above the freezer: 3:41 A.M.
"She's not going to make it far," Elias said softly. "The elevators are compromised. Griff locked the staff exits after you went down."
Marcus set Lila gently on a countertop, checking her pulse again. Her skin felt warmer now. The sigil had dimmed.
"She's stabilizing," he said. "But we need to get her outside. Away from the property."
Elias hesitated, then leaned close. "There's one way. Through the delivery bay, beneath the east annex. It connects to the main road. But…"
"But what?"
"It's under Griff's office."
Marcus exhaled through his teeth. "Of course it is."
The floor beneath them gave a soft tremor. Elias flinched. "He's moving again."
Marcus turned toward the far corridor. The shadows there seemed too deep, the air too still.
"Then we move now."
---
They slipped through the service halls like ghosts. Every sound seemed amplified—the squeak of Marcus's boots, the rustle of Elias's keys, Lila's shallow breathing. Once, they passed a room with its door half open, revealing only a flickering television and a reflection in the dark screen—a tall, unmoving silhouette that wasn't theirs.
Marcus didn't look twice.
The delivery bay smelled of oil and rust. The metal shutter was half-lowered, leaving a narrow crawlspace at the bottom. Beyond it, the faint blue glow of moonlight on asphalt beckoned.
Elias crouched, working at the lock with trembling hands. "Almost there," he whispered. "Almost—"
A voice cut through the air, cold and precise.
"Elias."
The Night Clerk froze. Marcus turned slowly.
Griff stood at the far end of the loading corridor, framed by the emergency light. His uniform was immaculate, as always—but the eyes were wrong. They glowed faintly, reflecting no emotion. His skin seemed too smooth, as if the light refused to sit on it.
"Step away from the door," Griff said.
Elias stumbled backward. "I...I didn't mean to...Mr. Griff, I was..."
Griff's tone was calm. "You were aiding a outsider . You are dead"
Marcus stepped forward, blocking Lila from view. "You're looking rough, Griff. Did your god forget to clock you out?"
Griff smiled faintly. "The Master sheds what he no longer needs. You, however—are still useful."
Marcus gripped the crowbar he'd taken from the tunnel. "You're not taking her."
Griff's eyes flicked toward Lila, then back. "You misunderstand. The girl was never the vessel. You are."
The words landed like a hammer. Marcus froze.
"What?"
Griff stepped closer. The air around him shimmered faintly, warping the fluorescent light. "King Hermon does not simply feed on life. He feeds on obsession, on devotion. You came here chasing a ghost—the girl, Thecla—and in doing so, you wove yourself into his design. Your will sustains this place as much as my faith."
Marcus shook his head slowly. "You think I'm part of your ritual? You've lost it."
Griff's smile widened, almost pitying. "The hotel never loses, Detective. It only changes hosts."
For a heartbeat, the air seemed to ripple. The walls flickered, faintly reflecting Marcus's own silhouette,then another, behind him, larger, almost fused to his shadow.
Elias gasped. "It's...he's merging with you—!"
Marcus swung the crowbar, shattering the fluorescent light. Sparks rained down.
"Run!" he shouted.
Elias dove beneath the half-open shutter, dragging Lila with him. Marcus turned back toward Griff.
The manager was no longer moving. His eyes were closed, head tilted slightly, as if listening to something far away. Then, faintly, his voice:
"Long live the Host."
The ground heaved. The tiles cracked. From beneath Griff's feet, the black stone symbols began to reappear, pulsing with red light.
Marcus threw himself under the shutter just as the corridor erupted in a cascade of heat and noise. The air outside was cold, almost painfully so, after the suffocating warmth of the tunnels.
Elias collapsed beside him, gasping. Lila lay limp between them, her faint gold mark glowing softly through her shirt.
The hotel loomed behind them, silent and still. But in its windows, the reflections moved—shadows walking where no one stood.
Marcus stared up at the sprawling structure, his heartbeat still wild.
Elias whispered, "What happens now?"
Marcus's jaw tightened. "Now we find out what's left of King Hermon."
He turned to the road, dawn barely brushing the horizon. Lila stirred again, murmuring something he could barely hear.
"…he's not gone, Marcus… he's waiting."
Marcus glanced back once. In one of the hotel's many windows, a faint silhouette stood—tall, motionless, smiling faintly.
Griff.
Or what was left of him.
The wind picked up, carrying the faintest echo from the building behind them:
"The hotel always provides a host."