The Wistful Cipher
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that blurred the edges of the castle’s ancient stone and turned the moat into a churning mirror of lead. Sir Thomas Ashworth stood in the corridor, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, feeling the cold seep through the leather of his gauntlet. He was waiting for his brother, but he was also waiting for the truth, a truth...
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