The Wistful Cipher
The smell of ozone and stale coffee hung heavy in the server room, a metallic tang that coated the back of Elias Thorne’s throat as he sat hunched over the terminal, the blue light of the monitor reflecting in the dark circles under his eyes. His fingers, stiff from the cold and the tremor that had lived in them since Clara’s arrest three weeks ago, hovered over the keyboard, waiting for the...
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