The Wistful Cipher
Act I Giovanni Lombardi ran his thumb across the brass key, the metal warm from the rain and the heat of his own palm, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts against the chill air of the courtyard. The stone steps were slick, a treacherous slope of black granite that had seen better days, and he gripped the railing with a hand that trembled not from fear but from the desperate, vibrating need...
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