The Wistful Cipher
The copper taste hits you first, a sharp, metallic bloom on the back of your tongue that tastes less like blood and more like the ozone scent of a struck match. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, a senior archivist at the Meridian Institute, and you want to clear your name before the board’s final vote tomorrow, but the opposing force is the institution’s rigid protocol, which you have spent a...
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