The Pale Tower
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the grounds of St. Jude’s Institute for Behavioral Correction into a slick, grey mirror that reflected the low, brooding sky. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp wool, floor wax, and the faint, metallic tang of old paper. Elias Thorne stood by the window in his office, a small, windowless room at the end of the second-floor corridor,...
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