The Wistful Voyage
The steam hissed from the valve like a dying breath, a thin, white thread cutting through the amber gloom of the engine room. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the helm, his hands white-knuckled against the brass wheel, staring not at the water ahead but at the shattered reflection of his own face in the porthole. He was a man carved from iron and regret, a vessel of the Royal Navy whose hull was...
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