The Wistful Campus
The call came from the corridor, sharp and thin as a wire snapping in the cold. “Arthur Vane.” It was Dr. Halloway, his voice muffled by the heavy oak door, but the tone carried the weight of the entire St. Jude’s Asylum. You stood in the center of the administrative office, the linoleum floor gleaming under the gaslight, your fingers resting on the leather-bound case of your pocket watch. It...
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