The Wistful Cipher
The letter arrived on a Tuesday, the day the fog lifted from the marshes to reveal the skeletal fingers of the willows. Thomas Bradshaw sat in his study, a room that smelled of damp wool and old paper, and watched the seal break. It was a wax stamp, the color of dried blood, bearing the crest of the Ashworth family. He did not open it immediately. Instead, he looked at the window, where the...
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