The Wistful Cipher
The hand was gone. That was the first thing Marcus noticed. Not the blood, which was a dull, brownish smear on the white tile floor. Not the silence, which was so heavy it felt like water filling his ears. It was the absence of the hand. He had been holding it just moments before. He had gripped the fingers, feeling the cold rigor of death settle into the knuckles. He had promised to keep it....
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