The Golden Harbor
The hammer struck the brass fitting with a sound that was less a ring and more a scream, a sharp, metallic wail that cut through the damp silence of the basement workshop and echoed up the spiral staircase to the high, vaulted ceilings of the house above. Elias Thorne did not flinch. His knuckles were white around the haft, the wood splintered beneath the force of his grip, and his eyes, fixed...
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