The Wistful Cipher
"Did he ask for it, or did the house take him?" Sergeant Elias Thorne did not answer the question, which hung in the damp air of the Blackwood Manor foyer like a wet rag. He stood with his back to the grand staircase, his knuckles white against the cold iron of his sidearm, though there was no one to shoot. The manor, a sprawling Victorian carcass of slate and rot, had swallowed his younger...
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