The Golden Harbor
The iron gate shrieked against the mortar, a sound that cut through the heavy, sulfurous air like a blade through wet silk, and Thomas Bradshaw did not stop running, his lungs burning with the taste of copper and old dust, his boots slipping on the slick stones that were not stone at all but something softer, something that breathed beneath the surface, pulsing with a slow, arrhythmic beat that...
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