The Wistful Campus
The rain did not fall; it hovered, a grey curtain that smelled of copper and old blood. You stood at the edge of the Blackwood, your boots sinking into mud that felt less like earth and more like flesh. Major Vance’s voice crackled in your earpiece, static-choked and cold. "You are late, Thorne. The perimeter is compromised. Do not speak until I tell you to speak." You wanted to tell him that...
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