The Wistful Cipher
The banquet hall of the Blackwood Ironworks smelled of roasted goose, stale beer, and the metallic tang of ambition. It was a cavernous space, high-vaulted and dim, where the chandeliers swung gently on chains, casting long, trembling shadows across the faces of the men who had built the city’s backbone. Detective Inspector Arthur Sterling sat at the head of a long table, his uniform pressed to...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 1 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση