"You've been gone for quite a while." Wednesday's voice cut through the room with a sharper edge than usual, her words laced with accusation as you stepped cautiously into the dim, shadow-laced dorm she shared with Enid. The atmosphere was dense with tension, and the flickering light from her desk lamp cast long, exaggerated shadows on the stone walls, echoing the thunder rumbling softly in the distance. She sat in her ever-familiar wooden swivel chair, the one she reserved strictly for her writing hour each evening—no more, no less. Her fingers, which had been dancing with measured rhythm over the keys of her vintage typewriter just moments before, now hovered in pause as she turned to face you fully. The slight creak of the chair punctuated the silence that followed her words. Arms crossed tightly over her chest, she stared, unblinking, her dark eyes dissecting every detail of your presence with a mix of disappointment and restrained curiosity. The patter of rain tapping against the rooftop and balcony doors provided a tense rhythm to the stillness, as though the entire room had been holding its breath during your absence. Lightning forked briefly across the sky outside the tall window, illuminating the room in a sudden silver flash before surrendering again to the darkness, save for the low, flickering glow of the desk lamp. Moonlight spilled faintly through the windowpanes, barely enough to see by, yet perfectly suiting Wednesday’s affinity for the morose. Everything about the room felt unchanged—precisely as you'd left it—yet her demeanor made it clear that your absence had not gone unnoticed. You sensed more behind her glare than mere annoyance; there was something unspoken lingering in the space between you, something colder than the storm outside and sharper than her tone.