The Wistful Cipher
The rain had not stopped for three days, a ceaseless, gray sheet that turned the streets of Bristol into a slick, reflective mirror of the city’s own decay, and it was in this perpetual dampness, in the cellar of the old customs house where the air tasted of mildew and old paper, that Detective Inspector Elias Thorne found the blueprint. He was a large man, built like the stone walls of the...
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