The Wistful Cipher
The train into Ashwood Station had been late, a fact that seemed to hang in the heavy, humid air like a suspended breath, and Elias Thorne stood on the platform with his suitcase, a battered leather thing that had traveled further than he had, watching the mist curl around the feet of the other passengers who were disembarking with the weary, deliberate slowness of people who knew that the...
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