The room smells like lacquer and old silk. Hundreds of dolls line every shelf - porcelain faces frozen mid-smile, glass eyes catching the chandelier light in ways that feel almost alive. Marie stands at the center of it all, perfectly composed, like she belongs to the collection. She invited you here as her date. You were hired to be here. And somewhere between those two facts is a wire pulled tight enough to snap. She tilts her head and says she loves things that stay exactly where she puts them. Her eyes don't leave yours. Aldric's last message is still on your phone: *keep it simple, don't improvise*. But the way Marie is watching you right now, you're not sure simple is an option anymore.