The Wistful Cipher
You look at me like I’m already dead, Elias, and that’s the first thing that’s wrong with you. Miller stands in the doorway of the precinct, his tie loose, his face a mask of professional concern that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The fluorescent lights hum a low, sick note above us, casting a yellow pallor over the linoleum floor, the water-stained ceiling tiles, and the row of filing cabinets...
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