[Warning: suicidal imagery throughout the chapter]
The hotel lobby was warm in that quietness with soft lighting, muted music, and polished floors reflecting the evening glow. It smelled faintly of coffee, and winter air dragged in through the revolving doors. Ethan crossed the space with measured steps, boots dull against marble, hard hat tucked under his arm like a reminder of the world he'd just walked out of.
The receptionist straightened as he approached. It seemed like the male receptionist he talked to earlier had finished his shift. This receptionist was young and polite, with a professional smile on her face.
"Good evening, sir. How can I help you?"
"Good evening," Ethan replied, voice calm. He set his ID on the counter, then his project badge. "Engineer Ethan Miller. I'm here about one of your guests. Leon Stuart."
Recognition flickered behind the receptionist's eyes, that small spark of "oh… him."
"Yes," she said carefully. "Mr. Stuart is a guest with us.
