Gansey awoke in Whelk's room with a throbbing headache. He wasn't bound by rope but he found the door locked; confused, he tried several ways to exit, and found it impossible. What had happened? A stray prop falling from a set? But then how had he gotten here?

Had the Phantom...? But this didn't make sense. The Phantom was nowhere in sight. Knocking his knuckles on the walls, he opened his mouth to call, but then remembered that he was topside and was keen on keeping the Phantom a secret. Never would he call the Phantom's true name, and calling for a phantom... what if someone was passing?

"Angel?" Gansey called, knocking where he thought the sounds may carry. Though he didn't know how far the Phantom was. "Are you there...? Angel?" Because truly, Laurent was like an angel, and Gansey couldn't think of anything better. He called again and again, and stopped only when the door opened. Whelk came inside, and Gansey stared at him.

"Praying?" Whelk's voice was without inflection, which Gansey found especially unappealing, and was holding a pistol casually.

"Yes," Gansey answered, taking a step back and suppressing a long-suffering sigh. Was it his destiny to be a damsel? Probably. Whelk closed the door behind him and stared. Gansey stared back. What did this man want? The Phantom? Unacceptable. He'd never give up the Phantom's whereabouts—

"I used to be like you," Whelk said, sounding depressed instead of apathetic. "Pretty. Rich. Beloved. Now I'm this."

Gansey looked around. It was... a less than stellar existence, sleeping on a scrap of fabric in a smelly little room down where no one else wanted one. "So...? You'd like money, then?" Gansey answered, frowning.

"No," Whelk said, looking at the gun, "I think I'd like to kill you."

"Oh," Gansey said, also looking at the gun. "I think I'd like not to die."

"A conundrum," Whelk agreed.