The Wistful Cipher
The blade slips. It is not a clean cut. It is a tearing. You feel the wet heat of it against your palm. The man on the floor gasps. It is a small sound. A dry rattle. He looks up at you. His eyes are wide. They are not filled with fear. They are filled with recognition. You drop the knife. It clatters on the stone floor. The sound is too loud. It echoes in the high vaulted ceiling. The room is...
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