The Wistful Cipher
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a fine, grey mist that clung to the shoulders of the employees and settled into the wool of their coats, dampening the very idea of dryness in the subterranean corridors of the Bureau of Anomalous Inquiry. Elias Thorne stood before the frosted glass of his office, watching the water droplets race down the pane in erratic, desperate lines,...
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