The Wistful Cipher
The rain lashed against the high, arched windows of the Blackwood Institute, a rhythmic, mechanical pounding that seemed to sync with the beating of my own heart. I sat in my office, the air thick with the scent of decaying vellum and the metallic tang of my own fear, and I held the Meridian Codex in my lap. It was a heavy thing, bound in leather so dark it appeared to drink the light from the...
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