The Wistful Cipher
The rain fell on the town of Oakhaven not as water, but as a thin, grey veil of static, distorting the edges of the world until the streetlights bled halos into the wet asphalt. Elias Thorne drove his sedan through the sleet, the wipers scraping a rhythmic, futile beat against the glass. He was a man carved from silence and duty, a detective who had spent twenty years chasing ghosts in a town...
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