The Wistful Cipher
The rain has been falling for three days, a persistent, grey sheet that blurs the edges of the world until the distinction between the wet pavement and the cobblestones beneath your boots disappears. You stand at the edge of the courtyard, the cold seeping through the soles of your heavy tactical boots, and you look up at the Spire. It is not a building in the way you were trained to understand...
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