Inside, the room smelled of old vinyl, stale coffee, and something metallic—perhaps the lingering echo of a thousand failed auditions. A single, battered couch sat in the middle, its upholstery a patchwork of faded navy and teal, the kind you’d find in a thrift store’s “vintage” section. A low‑profile monitor glowed from a corner, displaying a looping feed of a city skyline at dusk.