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Elias took the key. It felt heavy, a physical link to a man he’d only known through a file name. The tailor pointed toward a small, inconspicuous door in the back of the shop, hidden behind a rack of silk linings.

Elias stood at the corner of Savile Row, the cold London drizzle dampening the shoulders of his charcoal overcoat. In his hand, he clutched a single, glossy photograph—labeled in the digital archive he’d spent months scouring. It showed a man in a perfectly tailored three-piece suit, leaning against a mahogany desk, a silver pocket watch chain glinting against his vest. ari059GBP_367429079.jpg

Elias entered the shop of Ames & Thorne , the very place where the photo had been taken sixty-seven years ago. The smell of cedar, steamed wool, and expensive tobacco hit him instantly. Behind the counter sat an elderly man with spectacles perched precariously on his nose. Elias took the key