FADE IN: INT. HOTEL MERIDIAN FLINT, LOBBY, FLINT MICHIGAN, 10:43 PM A business hotel that has made peace with its own mediocrity. The carpet pattern was chosen by committee. The fern in the corner is artificial and convincing to nobody. Two elevators face a front desk staffed by a young man whose name tag says BRANDON and whose face says ten more minutes. CLAIRE MORROW (38) comes through the automatic doors with a rolling carry-on and a shoulder tote that is doing significant structural work. She is sharp-featured, dark-eyed, wearing the specific combination of blazer and jeans that means business travel on a budget that has principles. She moves through the lobby the way a person moves through a space they have navigated in seventeen other cities: without consulting it. She sets her bag at the front desk. Brandon straightens. CLAIRE Morrow. Reservation for two nights, possibly extending to four. Brandon types. Types more. BRANDON Morrow, Claire. I have you in a double on the fourth floor. CLAIRE Is there anything on a higher floor? Same price. Brandon checks. There is not, technically, but he finds one. Claire accepts it without the performance of gratitude that would be required in other circumstances. CLAIRE (CONT'D) Is the bar still open? BRANDON Until one. Kitchen closes at eleven. She looks at her watch. 10:46. She takes her key card. CLAIRE Thank you. She wheels the bag toward the elevators, stops, and turns.1