The Wistful Cipher
You are holding the ledger too tightly, Elias, your knuckles white against the damp leather, and the rain is not falling so much as it is being pushed against the window of the constable’s office by a force that has no source, a grey pressure that smells of wet ash and old paper, and you know with a certainty that bypasses reason that if you do not solve the cipher on the final page before the...
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