"It's...coded, sir. We're trying to decode it, but it's not matching anything in our database."
The bureau’s地下室 smelled of mold and oxidized metal. She pulled the labeled crate from Shelf 47. Inside, wrapped in oilcloth, lay a chronometer—not a watch, but a palm-sized device with a cracked crystal face and a single, recessed button. The engraving on the back read: CP 63. Return to origin. Do not wind. sir. We're trying to decode it
The implications were too terrible to contemplate. Sarah knew she had to get her crew out of there, and fast. wrapped in oilcloth