The Wistful Cipher
The house did not breathe, it wheezed, a low, rattling exhalation that seemed to come from the walls themselves, a sound so persistent and so intimately woven into the fabric of the silence that Martin had long since stopped hearing it as noise and had begun to hear it as the house’s own pulse, a steady, arrhythmic thumping that matched the frantic, erratic beat of his own heart which he kept...
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