The Wistful Campus
Chapter One I remember the cold before I remember the name. It was a damp, industrial chill that settled in the marrow, the kind that made the joints ache like old machinery left out in the rain. I was twenty-six, and the airlock in the maintenance corridor smelled of ozone and stale sweat. Dr. Aarav Vane stood before me, his face a mask of bureaucratic indifference, the light from the...
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