The Wistful Campus
November 14th. The wind off the harbor is cutting through the limestone spires of St. Jude’s Hall, and for the third time this week, the subsonic hum has rattled the fillings in my teeth until I thought they would pop out. I am Elias Thorne, thirty-two, and I have spent the last six hours in the reclamation bureau’s office, staring at the stress analysis reports that confirm what my gut has...
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