Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "Why are you telling us this now?"
Felix looked them all over with a sombre expression. "It's the only way I can guarantee your safety." He turned and left the room, returning moments later with two rolled-up mats in his hands. The beds were simple, lined up on either side of the room, leaving a small space in between. Michael took the mats and spread them on the floor.
Felix paused, then gestured to Smith. "There's baked bread in the kitchen. You," he said, pointing directly at Smith.
"Me?!" Smith blurted out in confusion.
"Yes, you," Felix replied calmly, and then he walked out without another word.
Henry burst into laughter at the awkwardness of the moment. The others looked at him, bewildered. It was as if he had lost his mind for no reason.
"I fear to admit it," Henry chuckled, "but he's creepier than the night itself." His voice trailed off as he shook his head, still amused.
Smith walked into the living room, his footsteps light against the creaky floorboards. Felix sat in a rocking chair, his gaze fixed intently on the door as if he were waiting for someone… or something. Smith glanced around the room until he spotted the kitchen. It was a modest space, with a simple sign on the door that read "Kitchen" in faded carbon paper. Inside, it was neat but lacked any real charm.
He found the bread on a wooden table, still warm to the touch. He picked it up, intending to take it back to the group, but as he turned to leave the kitchen, he froze. Felix was standing in the doorway, having silently appeared out of nowhere.
"You startled me," Smith admitted, his voice tinged with shock.
Felix didn't respond immediately, his expression unreadable. "I baked these this morning," he said finally, his tone calm. "They're still good. You should give some to the ladies too."
Smith raised an eyebrow, still trying to process the strange encounter. "You bake?"
Felix shrugged an almost playful glint in his eyes. "Is that so surprising?"
Smith chuckled softly. "No, it's just… we're in the 21st century, anything's possible."
Felix's eyes darkened slightly, a trace of something unspoken flickering in his gaze. "Do you have some time to talk? There's something I'd like to tell you… and something I need to confirm."
Smith hesitated, his curiosity piqued. "Now?"
"Yes," Felix replied firmly, his voice low. "Now."
(Ladies' Room)
The ladies' room was almost a mirror image of the men's—simple, bare, and unwelcoming. The only notable difference was the cream-coloured walls, adorned with a few faded paintings that seemed out of place, as though they'd been hung more for habit than decoration. Two beds flanked opposite sides of the room, leaving a space in the middle where the women now gathered.
Abigail sat cross-legged on one of the beds, unzipping her backpack—the same one she had grabbed hastily from the bus. She dug through its contents with practised ease, pulling out an assortment of biscuits and juice boxes like a magician revealing endless props. Without hesitation, she began passing them around.
The others took the snacks gratefully, though their movements betrayed the weariness that clung to them. The room, for all its simplicity, felt like a cage.
"Just how many of these did you pack?" Erica asked, her voice breaking the silence.
"A lot," Abigail replied nonchalantly. "I always carry them wherever I go… all day, every day."
"Keep it down," Sandy hissed, glancing toward the door as though expecting Felix to appear without warning. "The old man said no noise."
"No noise," Nora corrected, leaning back against the wall, "but not no sound."
Emilia shifted uneasily on the edge of her bed, a biscuit half-eaten in her hand. "I don't know," she murmured. "I just keep having this feeling… we're not safe here."
Erica glanced at her. "It's okay to feel that way. No one walks into a stranger's house and feels at home. It's normal."
"Normal?" Abigail asked, tilting her head. "Or nervous?"
Emilia's expression hardened. "I'm not nervous."
"Relax," Nora said, rolling her eyes. "He's just an old man. What's the worst he could do?"
"Haven't you heard the story 'Old Kills'?" Emilia snapped.
Abigail leaned in, a grin tugging at her lips. "Ironic title, don't you think?"
"No," Emilia said, her voice steady but low.
"Okay then," Abigail pressed. "Tragic comedy?"
"No," Emilia repeated, her tone sharp this time. "It's tragic. A story full of the devil's work—more lessons than killings. It's about life and its worth."
Abigail smirked and flicked off her flashlight, plunging the room into darkness. A second later, she switched it back on and shone the beam directly under her chin. Her face, cast in eerie shadows, looked hollowed out, almost skeletal.
"Ghosts?" she whispered. "Whoosh! Lightning! Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Emilia snatched the flashlight from her and set it firmly on the wooden drawer beside the bed. "Not funny," she muttered.
"Hey!" Abigail protested. "That was gold! Admit it—you were scared for a second."
"No," Emilia said flatly.
"Come on," Abigail teased. "You've got me curious about that book now. But honestly? I'd pass if it's one of those 'lesson-before-death' types. Give me the thrill, not the lecture."
Tessa cut in, her voice steady and practical. "Emilia, don't mix fiction with reality, okay? You're letting your imagination run wild."
Nora crossed the room and perched beside Emilia, patting her on the head as though soothing a child. "Stop overthinking," she said softly. "We're here. I'm here. You're fine, okay?"
Emilia let out a soft groan and rested her head on Nora's shoulder, her tension melting—if only slightly.
Abigail, never one to let things drop, leaned back with a sly grin. "So… not nervous? Just speculating? Can someone explain the difference to me? Sounds a lot like nerves." She turned to the others. "Did anyone else skip the 'nervousness 101' class for cafeteria food, or was it just Emilia?"
The room erupted into laughter.
"Hey!" Nora said, pretending to be offended. "That's my sister you're talking about!"
The laughter lingered, bouncing off the cream-coloured walls and filling the empty spaces between them. But it didn't last long. The room quickly settled into an uneasy quiet, as though the shadows in the corners had reclaimed their hold.
Despite the smiles, the tension still clung to them, like damp air that refused to lift. No matter how hard they tried to laugh it off, the unease lingered—whispering to each of them in the dark.