The Wistful Campus
The ink was still wet on the page when the door burst open, shattering the quiet of the study with a violence that made the candles gutter and the dust motes dance in chaotic spirals. Thomas Whitmore did not look up from his manuscript. He knew the weight of the footsteps before he heard the voice, a heavy, rhythmic thud that echoed off the stone walls like a war drum. He could feel the heat of...
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