The Wistful Campus
The champagne in your crystal flute has gone flat, a dull, metallic taste that coats the back of your throat, yet you smile, because the alternative is a silence so heavy it would crush the bones of your firm before the week is out. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-two, and you are standing in the gilded belly of the Ashworth University Hall, surrounded by the wealthy and the connected, holding the...
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