The Mystery Cipher
“In the dead of a London winter, when the fog lay thick as old grief over Baxter Street, a parcel arrived at our door. Inside it lay an ornate clock—beautifully crafted, fearfully precise… and entirely without hands. But the clock held more than silence. Hidden within its chamber was a severed finger… and a list of names arranged like appointments. Five already crossed by fate. The next to fall scheduled for that very night. And the last name… was mine. How does a man outrun the past… when the past knows his name?
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