The visitor's room hummed. Dim, grey, and narrow, with a thick pane of glass splitting the room like a wound that had healed wrong.

On the other side, the Dementors did not enter this room, but their presence never left. It settled into the stone, into the air, into the spaces between words.

The door on the far side opened.

Lorenzo lingered by the door, one hand still on the frame, fingers tapping once before falling still.

Five chairs scraped against the floor. Five sets of eyes found the glass at different speeds.

Silence stretched, thick and expectant.