The Wistful Cipher
The rain lashed against the high, arched windows of the St. Jude’s Institute for the Study of Anomalous Phenomena, blurring the grey sky into a smear of slate and charcoal. Inside the sub-basement, the air was thick with the scent of ozone and old paper. Elias Thorne stood before the containment unit, his hands trembling not from cold, but from the sheer, crushing weight of what he was holding....
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