The Wistful Cipher
Thorne, get down here before the ink dries on your resignation. The voice of Silas Ashworth, the head archivist, did not carry the usual gravel of his age but the thin, reedy squeak of a wire pulled too tight, and you found yourself standing in the middle of the Blackwood Estate’s main hall, your boots sinking into the dust that coated the floor like a fine, grey snow, while the morning light...
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