The Wistful Cipher
Thorne, stop that coughing, you’re scaring the ink off the page. The voice was not loud, but it cut through the heavy, sulfurous air of my office like a wire snapped across a taut drum, and I found myself pausing, the pen hovering over the date line of my ledger, the nib trembling slightly not from age but from the sudden, violent spasm that had just wrung the breath from my lungs. It was...
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