The Wistful Cipher
The ink vanished. Dr. Elias Thorne watched the graphite smudge dissolve into the white void of the page, a slow evaporation that left no trace, only the faint, ghostly indentation of the pen tip. He pulled his hand back. The air in the Ministry archive was not cold, not in the way winter air is cold, but it felt thin, as if the oxygen had been siphoned away, leaving a vacuum that pressed...
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