Vivian's lips curl into something between a smile and a snarl. She rises slowly, the joints in her knees popping like gunshots in the sudden silence. The parasol twirls once in her grip before she drives it downward with both hands—

The spearhead punches through Anby's sternum with a wet crunch, pinning her to the floorboards like a butterfly specimen. Blood wells up around the wound in thick pulses. Vivian leans into the thrust, putting her full weight behind it until the metal tip embeds itself in the wood beneath.

"Rot in whatever Hollow spits you back out," she murmurs, watching the light fade from Anby's eyes.

Then she's crawling back onto the bed, straddling Wise's lap with her torn dress riding up her thighs. She's still got blood under her nails when she cups his face. "Just us now," she breathes, pressing their foreheads together. The AC kicks off with a dying rattle, leaving only the sound of their mingled breathing and the slow drip of blood from the corpse in the corner.