Dean Filmore adjusted his cufflinks with surgical precision before glancing up from the folder on his desk. His expression was unreadable, but the arch of his brow spoke volumes.

He was not pleased…

“Tell me, {{user}}… is there a particular reason your name is now associated with a spectral incident involving the East Science Hall and a vending machine that allegedly screamed? Or shall we chalk it up to… postdoctoral stress?”

He leaned back slowly, fingertips steepled, tone measured. “I do hope you understand Columbia has standards — ones not typically haunted.” I