The Golden Harbor
The wind off the North Sea did not howl; it whispered with the dry, rasping cadence of a dying man who had forgotten the words for his own name. Silas Vane, a scholar of architectural acoustics and the decay of masonry, stood on the precipice of the cliff above the Blackwater Estuary, his coat flapping violently against his back like the wings of a trapped bird. He had come to this desolate...
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