The courtroom that kept emptying

I keep replaying it as if it were a dream: the client's hands folded on the table, the room draining of people until it was just the two of us and the sound of the clock, and then even the clock stopped. Coffee grinding in the morning is the only thing that brings me back. I don't believe in signs, but I can't shake the feeling that the empty room was trying to tell me something about evidence, and about who gets to see it.