The Wistful Cipher
The ironworks stood at the edge of Harrowgate like a bruise on the landscape, its chimneys spitting a constant, sulfurous grey into a sky that never quite cleared. I had returned to this town not out of nostalgia, but out of a desperate, grinding need to solve a puzzle that had been gnawing at the inside of my skull for three weeks. It began with a dream, a recurring one where the walls of my...
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