The Wistful Cipher
The rain against the window of the Blackwood Insurance Bureau did not fall; it hammered, a relentless, industrial percussion that matched the thrum of the steam engines below. I sat at my desk, the parchment of the Wistful Cipher before me, its ink shifting in the dim gaslight. I am Elias Thorne, thirty-two, a senior cryptanalyst who has spent eleven years decoding the silent languages of...
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