The Wistful Cipher
The paper lay on the desk, white and stark against the green baize, a single sheet of intercepted naval correspondence that Elias Thorne had been staring at for three hours. It was a standard Admiralty protocol, or so it appeared, but the syntax was wrong, the spacing uneven, the cipher key shifting in a way that defied the rigid logic of the service. Elias rubbed his eyes, the skin gritty and...
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