The Wistful Asylum
The rain did not fall so much as it insisted, a gray curtain drawn tight across the window of the moving van, blurring the highway into a smear of asphalt and dying trees. Dr. Elias Thorne sat in the passenger seat, his hands resting on his knees, fingers interlaced with a tension that made the knuckles white. He was a man who had spent twenty years dissecting the architecture of the human mind...
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