The Wistful Cipher
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray weeping that turned the cobblestones of Oakhaven into a slick, treacherous mirror of the low-hanging clouds, and it was in this damp, suffocating silence that Magistrate Alderwick first noticed the strange, wet sheen on the parchment unrolling across the table of the town hall. It was not water, though it looked like it, but a...
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