The Wistful Cipher
The ink is wet on the ledger page and your fingers are trembling inside the cuffs of your grey uniform, the cotton stiff with the smell of lye and old sweat, while the sound of the shelling outside the reinforced concrete walls of the Blackwood County Assessor’s Office is not thunder but a rhythmic, mechanical tearing of the air, a sound that vibrates in the marrow of your teeth and settles...
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