The Wistful Cipher
The eviction notice lay on the desk, a yellowed rectangle that seemed to vibrate with its own terrible finality. Elias Thorne stared at it, his fingers trembling not from the cold that seeped through the floorboards, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the date: Friday. He was forty-two years old, a medium of dubious reputation in a city that had long since moved past the parlor tricks of...
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