The Wistful Cipher
The mist clung to the valley floor of Oakhaven like a shroud, damp and cold, seeping into the bones of the road as I walked. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two, a constable in service to the magistrate, and I walk now with a purpose that has consumed me for three years. In my pocket, the ghost of a silver clasp presses against my thigh, a phantom weight for an object I do not possess. I seek the...
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