(Preston's Gandhi fetish is soooooo unhelpful, man.)

A few more doors, and Gwen comes to a stop.

"Here we are," she says, turning the key and pushing the door open. "Preston! We've got company."

The room is small, but not cramped. There's space for two beds, a futon couch and small coffee table, and a dresser that's seen better days. Also: a beanbag chair belonging to Preston.

Preston himself, however, is nowhere to be found.

"Huh." Gwen frowns, then shrugs. "Place to ourselves, then."