The Wistful Cipher
"The wind is trying to get in, Elias. It’s trying to eat the door." Silas’s voice was a wet rasp, stripped of its usual cadence, hanging in the cold air of the watchtower like smoke. You sat on the floor, your back against the stone wall, listening to the storm batter the structure. It was not a sound of weather; it was a sound of labor, a physical assault that shook the dust from the beams....
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