The Wistful Cipher
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of Millhaven into slick, black mirrors that reflected the dim gaslight of the watchtower. In the center of the square stood Sergeant Elias Thorne, his coat heavy with wet wool, his posture rigid as a stake driven into the earth. He was not looking for a thief. He was looking for a face. The town had been quiet, too quiet, the...
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