The Wistful Voyage

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2026-08-17 20:09:44 -

The fog in Harrowgate tasted of iron and rot. It clung to the cobblestones like a wet wool shawl, suffocating the gaslamps until they glowed mere, sickly eyes in the dark. Elias Thorne did not care for the cold. He cared for the sound. A scratch. A drag. The wet, heavy thud of something that should not have been able to walk, moving through the alley behind the chandler’s shop. He stopped. His...

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