The Wistful Cipher
The banquet hall of St. Jude’s Academy for Orphans and Indigent Girls smelled of boiled cabbage, old wax, and the sharp, metallic tang of fear that seemed to hang in the rafters like a second ceiling. It was the feast of the Founders, a night when the rigid hierarchy of the institution was ostensibly relaxed, yet in practice, it was only the night the traps were set most delicately. Elara Vance...
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