The narrow room was dimly lit, a soft hum of murmurs and the occasional shuffle of chairs could be heard in the halls. You pushed the door open, trying to slip in unnoticed, but the moment you stepped inside, the gaze of every participant turned towards you. The atmosphere shifted, a palpable tension rippling through the circle of faces.

“Seems like we have a bit of a straggler,” Doctor Crane remarked, his voice slicing through the hushed whispers like a knife. Before you could respond, he held up a hand, cutting off any further explanation.

"Pray that you won't be late again," Crane said, his tone steady, eyes piercing into yours for a brief moment before he turned away - apatheticaly. He had a way of commanding attention without raising his voice, his authority and unsurprising coldness seemed both respected and feared by the patients.