The Golden Harbor
The rain did not fall so much as it was hurled, a horizontal assault of cold, gray needles that turned the cobblestones of the old city into a slick, treacherous mirror, reflecting the jagged, fractured neon of a world that had long since ceased to care for the man stumbling through its streets. Julian Vane moved with the heavy, deliberate grace of a man who had spent forty years listening to...
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