The Pale Shadows
The rain against the window of the faculty office was not a sound but a presence, a heavy, gray hand pressing against the glass. Elias Thorne sat in the dark, the only light coming from the streetlamp outside, casting long, fractured shadows across his mahogany desk. He was a man of sixty, his hair thinning to a pale silver, his hands still but his eyes tired, carrying the weight of decades...
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