The Golden Downtown
The rain had been falling for three days, a thin, persistent mist that turned the cobblestones of the lower docklands into a slick, grey mirror. It was the kind of weather that settled in the bones, dampening the joints and dulling the sharp edges of anger until only a low, humming ache remained. Silas Vane stood at the end of Pier Four, his hands resting on the cold iron of the railing,...
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