CHAPTER 5: THE RESIDENTS II.

The bathroom was even cleaner—tiles glowing under ambient lights. She tested the bathtub faucet. Warm. Perfect.

One by one, layers of travel were stripped away: coat, earrings, shirt, jeans, cream-colored boots. Then, she lowered herself into the foamy water and let out a quiet, relieved sigh as her ginger hair floated like lazy waves around her.

---

After her bath, wrapped in a towel, Candice sat before the vanity, rubbing deodorant cream onto her skin. Her laptop hummed softly nearby as she blow-dried her hair.

Then she paused.

In the reflection of the mirror, half-hidden in a flower vase near the bed, was a tiny, blinking lens.

A camera.

Candice didn’t flinch. She only stared at it for a moment, then stood and walked to the wardrobe. She pulled out fresh clothes... and her laptop. Her thoughts were calm.

They really took my request seriously.

---

Outside, night had fallen. The hotel was aglow in golden lights, a beacon in the city’s heart. Pedestrians and traffic passed by in a blur of color and sound.

Inside the reception area, Hermit was all smiles as he handed a sleek card to a woman in a tailored black suit. She nodded once before walking off with a squad of bodyguards, one of whom carried a briefcase handcuffed to his wrist.

As soon as they were out of sight, Hermit pulled a tiny earpiece from his jacket and pressed it in. He leaned toward his hand like a stage whisper.

“They’re all here,” he said calmly. “Proceed. Operation now.”

---

Beyond the city center, inside a grey surveillance van, six men in black tactical suits moved with mechanical precision. Monitors lined the walls, each displaying different angles of the hotel—hallways, stairwells, even rooms.

At the front, the driver answered through his headset.

“Copy that,” he said, and the van rumbled to life.

Inside, weapons were checked. Clips loaded. Gloves pulled on.

The operation had begun.

---

Back at the hotel, another guest stepped in.

A woman in her late sixties, dark-skinned, her native red attire flowing like shadow and silk. Her red designer bag hung loosely from her arm. Her face was calm, unreadable.

“Room 212,” she said, her voice dry and firm.

Hermit blinked. “Uh, I believe that room was—”

He turned to the key wall. Room 212’s key... was still there. Hanging. Slightly swaying.

“That’s odd,” he muttered. “I could’ve sworn...”

He tapped on his tablet, brows furrowing.

Room 212 was unoccupied.

He hesitated. No check-in this morning? Did I dream that?

Eventually, he smiled and handed her the key. “Here you go, ma’am. Have a wonderful night.”

She didn’t respond. Just turned and walked away.

Hermit watched her leave, the smile fading slowly from his lips.

“…That was spooky,” he murmured, briefly shaking his body earlier filled with goosebumps while talking to the strange woman.

---

In Room 212, the woman set her red bag on the bed and unwrapped an old red cloth, placing it delicately on the floor. Her voice began to rise in a haunting song—low, ancestral, rhythmic.

She reached into her bag and brought out a collection of unsettling items:

A dried piece of animal hide.

A curved dagger etched with tribal symbols.

A horn wrapped in twine.

A strand of human hair.

A yellowed tooth.

A small, black stone.

She laid each one on the red cloth with solemn care.

Then she raised the dagger and cut her palm.

Blood trickled down onto the black stone, then slowly seeped into the hide. She wrapped her bleeding hand with a white cloth and lifted the stone in her other hand, her song rising louder, eerier.

Then it began to vibrate.

The black stone pulsed. Trembled.

And she didn’t stop singing.

---

In the surveillance van, the tactical team stared at the screen. They had seen fights. Secrets. Intimate moments. But never this.

On the monitor, the woman’s eyes had rolled back into white. Her song shook the audio feed. Her blood now stained the floor.

Then she walked out of the room, still singing, as if entranced.

The men exchanged looks—silent, cold, confused.

Something was wrong.

---

And from somewhere deep within the

hotel's unseen system…

a monitor flickered. Glitched. Then displayed static.

Room 218.

Candice's room.

Only static.