The Wistful Cipher
The autumn of 1954 settled over the Blackwood Estate like a heavy, wet wool blanket, pressing the dampness into the bones of the stone walls and the joints of the men who lived within them. In the scriptorium, a room that smelled of decaying paper and stale tobacco, Elias Thorne sat hunched over a desk that had been his companion for thirty years, his fingers trembling as they hovered over the...
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