The Wistful Cipher
The pen lay on the desk, its nib dry, the brass cap tarnished at the edges from years of grip. Elias Thorne held it between his thumb and forefinger, the metal cold against his skin, and watched the ink smear on the page as his hand began to shake. He was forty-two, a senior cryptanalyst at the Bureau, and he had three days to solve the Vane Cipher before his pension was forfeited. The...
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