The Garret Reading
By the wavering light of a tallow candle, you spread the punch-cards across your writing desk and trace each perforation with an inked nib. The pattern resolves like frost on glass: EZRA PELL. 14 COPPERGATE LANE. BLACKFRIARS STEAM VAULT — SUBLEVEL VII.
Your name. Mrs. Hennings' address. And beneath them, threaded through the holes, something colder still—a date written in the future tense.