"That's the one. We should ... we should make sure she's all right." Lambert, of course, doesn't need his eyes at all -- just his nose. Although the smell of opium mingles with other substances that litter the air, the lavender is distinct. From time to time, he'll stop and sniff the air, turning his head, but the trail eventually leads them to a suite door that doesn't really look at that distinguishable from the rest of the ones lining the hallway.

"This one," Lambert says, with certainty, reaching out to try the handle -- it opens readily. And there's the woman in question, fully clothed in the middle of a still-made bed, breathing so quietly she might as well be dead.