The Wistful Cipher
The ink did not dry; it waited. Elias Thorne held the sheet of heavy, cream-colored paper under the harsh fluorescent light of his office, the hum of the ventilation system a low, constant drone that seemed to vibrate in his molars. He was fifty-two years old, a senior archivist at the Ministry of Records, a man who had spent three decades organizing the bureaucratic detritus of a nation, yet...
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