The Wistful Cipher
The name "Elias" hung in the air, heavy and accusatory, before the voice even finished forming. "Get up, Elias. You are blocking the intake." Elias did not get up. He shifted his weight, the takeout container under his hip shifting with a wet, plastic creak. The apartment was a mess of paper, a chaotic feast of scattered documents and cold lo mein that smelled of stale soy and dust. He was...
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