The Wistful Cipher
The gas lamps in the Blackwood Institute archives flicker, casting long, trembling shadows across the mahogany tables where you sit. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, and you have not slept in three days. Your fingers, stained with ink and trembling slightly, hover over the final page of your father’s ledger. You want to clear his name. You want to prove that the embezzlement charges that...
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