[ It's eerie enough to be a ghost story. The floorboards creak as he walks over, and nothing else makes any noise within the studio. Just them, and the lodge. ]

Me? No, I'm not...

[ He's not dead. He doesn't think so? His words trail off into nothing, his thoughts scattered. Nothing seems to coalesce; even his concern won't take shape, little more than a benign frown.

It's hard to feel much of anything about the situation. Like he's removed from it—an actor playing a role that's been cut from the script. ]

It's not just this set. I didn't run into a soul on my way here.

[ The next words slip out of him without thought, tentative. ]

Is this... where we're supposed to be?