The Wistful Cipher
The clock in the reading room struck nine, a heavy, iron sound that seemed to fracture the silence of the library. Elias Thorne did not look up. His eyes were fixed on the page, but they were not seeing the words. They were seeing the space between them. He had been here for three days. The air in the Halloway Institute was thick with the scent of decaying paper and the metallic tang of old...
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