The Fog of Certainty
The gas lamps of London flickered in a rhythmic, dying pulse, casting long, skeletal shadows across the cobblestones of Bloomsbury. Arthur sat in the dim light of his study, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and the sulfurous tang of the city's smog. Before him lay the Equation—a sprawling, jagged architecture of numbers that defied every known law of Euclidean geometry. It was not...
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