The Wistful Cipher
The note from Lord Vane was already on the desk, the wax seal broken and the paper crumpled at the edges, a small, bureaucratic death certificate for any hope of advancement. Elias Thorne did not read it immediately; he stood in the center of the Imperial Ministry’s archive, the vaulted ceiling lost in the haze of candle smoke and the thick, sweet scent of decaying vellum, his hands trembling...
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