Fabrice vaguely recognizes the hotel they've pulled into, a fairly decent looking place, though not particularly memorable; catching sight of the name, he forgets it almost as soon as he reads it. But that's fine, he thinks, as Amelie steers him inside. He's not at Violet's house, and that's what he cares about more than anything else.

"Okay," he tells his cousin as they head into the lobby, a thankfully empty appearing lobby, he notices. "This looks nice."

He feels as though he's been drugged, disoriented as he is from the pain and the weight of his visions. His chills have abated somewhat, though he still shakes with every step he takes.