The Wistful Cipher
The appeal was rejected before Teresa Vitale could sign it. The paper lay on the desk, damp with the humidity of the hill town, and her left hand, a block of cold grey stone, rested on the edge. She had come to clear her name, to prove the Cipher was not stolen by her fingers, but the Bureau Chief, a man whose suit hung loose on his thinning frame, had not even looked at the document. He had...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews