The Wistful Campus
The paper tore with a sound like a dry leaf snapping under a boot. Thomas’s hands moved in a blur, shredding the municipal ledger into confetti that drifted onto the floorboards of the basement archive. I watched, frozen, my own fingers still resting on the spine of a volume I had not opened. The smell of dust and old ink hung thick in the air, a scent that usually soothed me but now felt like...
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