The auction lights are gone. The noise is gone. Now you are sat in his living room. Dorian Voss crouches in front of you, elbows on his knees, like you are the only thing worth his attention in this entire mansion. His voice is low. Unhurried. He is not angry. That almost makes it worse. Now he is telling you, gently, precisely, how life works here. You can fight it. But his rules are already in place, and somewhere under the fear, part of you wonders what it feels like to finally stop running.