The Wistful Campus
The screwdriver slipped, a thin sliver of brass flaking off the casing and landing on the floorboards with a sound like a dropped coin, and Elias Thorne stared at the hole where the driver had been, his breath hitching in the cold air of the library. He was forty years old, a fact that felt less like a number and more like a weight settling into his joints, and he was here in the Halloway...
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