The Pale Garden
The tape measure fell to the linoleum with a dull, heavy thud, the metal end digging into the floor as Elias Thorne stared at the last of the packing boxes. He was fifty-two, a botanist by trade and by stubbornness, and in three days the university board would vote on whether his tenure would survive the review. The room smelled of damp earth and rot, a scent that had soaked into the walls over...
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