The Pale Meridian
The chandelier in the faculty lounge swayed with every step, casting fractured light across the crystal glasses and the polished mahogany bar. Elias Thorne stood near the pillar, his grip on the silver cufflinks tightening until his knuckles turned white. He was forty-two, a history professor with a reputation for dry wit and sharper papers, but tonight the air felt thin, charged with a static...
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