The Wistful Cipher
The envelope is thick, Elias, and it smells of the tar that coats the factory floor, not the chalk dust of your office. Halloway stands before you, his face a mask of professional concern, his hands clasped behind his back as if he is holding something heavy. He does not look at the paper. He looks at the wall, where the stone seems to pulse with a low, rhythmic thrum that you feel in your...
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