The Distant Nightmare
The crystal chandeliers of the Whitmore Hall cast a fractured, prismatic light over the faculty, turning the air into a suspended galaxy of glittering dust. Dr. Elias Thorne stood near the heavy oak doors, his hand buried deep within his tailored suit pocket, his fingers wrapped tightly around the velvet box that held his father’s silver cufflinks. He was forty-two, a man who had spent two...
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