The Wistful Campus
The suspect is gone. Elias Thorne stared at the empty chair where the man had been sitting two seconds before. The restraints were still on, the metal cuffs clicking softly as they swung against the table. His hand, the one holding the coffee mug, trembled. It was a fine, high-frequency vibration, like a wire struck by a tuning fork. He set the mug down. The ceramic hit the wood with a dull...
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