The Wistful Campus
The demolition crew’s foreman, a man with a face like a clenched fist and a clipboard that served as his only shield against the chaos of the atrium, shouted Elias Thorne’s name across the polished marble floor, the sound cracking against the high, vaulted ceiling where dust motes danced in the slanting afternoon light. Elias did not move, nor did he raise his voice; he simply planted his feet,...
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