The Wistful Cipher
The counting of the folios had become a liturgy of exhaustion, each sheet weighed against the damp air of the sub-basement, a task that demanded the precision of a surgeon and the patience of a saint. Elias Thorne, his left hand stained a permanent, bruised violet from decades of handling the order’s most dangerous texts, moved through the stacks with the mechanical grace of a man who had long...
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