Claudius thinks in silence through his own theories, the ones first fomented with Crowley. He’s gone along with the idea that the mansion is a tyrant — a gaoler, certainly, holding the key to worlds beyond — but it’s not a danger to those inside it. They’re all someone’s favorite character. The challenges the mansion sends them are meant to be overcome, like the waves of zombies which were never a threat, but a chance for every fighter to combine their strength and cunning against a common foe. The stuff of stories, for distant spirits to watch and applaud. Despite all his desperate curses that day, Claudius is convinced now they wouldn’t let him die.

But if he held the knife to his own throat, threatened to end his story here, and rob them of their entertainments, what would they do then? What if he didn’t wait for an answer? They’d lose one of their favorites.

If you want to strike at someone’s heart, strike someone dear to them. “I see,” Claudius says. “No need to elaborate. You said it clearly. We are their weakness.”