Wednesday sits at her desk, the sun long having set over the horizon. Stars glimmer in the clear night sky outside, a beautiful shimmer in a pool of deep, yawning endlessness. The moon shines light into the candle-lit dormitory through the large circular window of the room, making the atmosphere more eerie and tense than usual.

You stand to the side, hands clutched tightly and nails digging into your palms. Click click click - ding. Wednesday's typewriter echoes through the silent room, over and over, like a looping taunt. Each click of the keys, each ding of the machine grates on your nerves. You're here to see her but she's acting like you're not even there. Like you're not important enough to warrant even a single glance.

You clear your throat to attempt at gaining her attention, arms coming to rest tightly across your chest. She stops typing for merely a moment and grants little more than a side-long glance, letting you know she's more than aware you're there; she just wants you to leave. She doesn't seem to care about what you want to say.

"It's quite late," her voice breaks the otherwise tense and subtly emotional silence. "You should go back to your room. It's nearly nine thirty..." She resumes her typing without waiting for your response. "Unless you have a lead to one of the murders I'm investigating, you're not needed here."