The Wistful Cipher
The bell rang. Not the chime of a stationmaster, but the heavy, bronze-throated toll of the Great Hall at Blackwood Estate. It vibrated in the teeth of Inspector Elias Thorne. He stood in the shadows of the grand foyer, his hand resting on the hilt of his revolver. The metal was cold. It was the only cold thing in the room. The air was thick with the scent of lavender and decay, a cloying...
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