The cast rushes upstairs, led by Ivy and NY. At the end of a dark hallway, they find a guest suite with the door ajar.

Inside, a large decorative banquet table is overturned. A silver shrimp cocktail tray lies spilled on the floor, and beside it is Dean Crawford, seated upright in a chair, dazed and pale. His speech is slurred.

Vinny panics. “Dean Crawford?! Are you okay?!”

Dean: “Something… was in the shrimp…”

Saul mutters, “Told you shrimp was sketchy.”

Ivy kneels beside him. “His pulse is weak. Someone call an ambulance.”

Exi, arms raised in his signature claw-pose, adds, “I KNEW this place had bad energy.”

NY, as tonight’s detective, pulls something from Dean’s hand—a bloody napkin with the initials “V.M.”

Goots frowns and says, “If he’s only just fading now… then who screamed?”

From the hallway, the chandelier overhead creaks ominously. Isen floats in the background, half in shadow, two bottles of Corgi Gin tucked under his arms, silently watching.