The Wistful Cipher
Chapter One Could a man’s own blood be the poison that killed him? Jiro Sasaki asked the question aloud, his breath fogging in the draughty backroom of the pub, where the air tasted of stale beer and wet wool. He was thirty-two, a mine surveyor’s assistant with hands that shook not from cold, but from the weight of the chancery inheritance tied to his name. Outside, the dry wind cracked the...
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