The Wistful Cipher
The rain did not fall. It hung. A thick, grey curtain of suspended water, waiting for a command that never came. Elias stood in the center of the plaza. The cobblestones were slick with a mist that smelled of ozone and old iron. He was a man built for order. His uniform, a deep navy wool, was pressed to a razor's edge. The insignia on his chest gleamed, a silver eagle with outstretched wings....
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