The Wistful Campus
The rain did not fall so much as it existed, a persistent gray curtain that blurred the edges of the Ironworks District. Elias stood at the window of his small, damp flat, watching the condensation race down the glass. He was a man built of angles and silence. His uniform, pressed until the fabric creaked, hung in the corner. It was a heavy thing, woven from wool so thick it seemed to absorb...
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