The Wistful Cipher
The rain on the cobblestones of the High Court did not wash away the grime; it only made the darkness slicker, turning the ancient flagstones into mirrors that reflected the torchlight in fractured, trembling shards. You walk these corridors with the heavy, deliberate step of a man who has learned to carry the weight of the world in his boots, the leather creaking in time with the rhythm of...
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