The Distant Summer
The great hall of St. Jude’s College smelled of stale wine, wet wool, and the sharp, metallic tang of ambition. It was a place where the air itself seemed to thicken with the weight of unspoken judgments, a stone fortress of intellect perched atop the hill overlooking the gray, churning waters of the river. Professor Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the banquet table, his fingers trembling...
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