The Wistful Cipher
The brass chronometer did not tick, for it was a thing of silent, internal gears and jeweled bearings, yet it possessed a presence so heavy and undeniable that it seemed to suck the oxygen from the air of the war room, leaving the men standing in a vacuum of suspended breath, their uniforms stiff with the damp chill of the November fog that pressed against the high, leaded windows of the...
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