The Wistful Cipher
The factory bell did not ring to signal the end of the shift. It screamed. It was a jagged, industrial shriek that tore through the grey morning air of the coal-dusted valley, vibrating in the teeth and rattling the loose panes of the mill windows, a sound so violent it felt less like a notification and more like an execution. Elias Thorne stood on the gantry, his boots slipping on the wet...
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