The Golden Harbor
The candle guttered. Rain hammered the glass. "Look at the ledger, Thomas." He looked. The ink was fresh. Wet. It smelled of iron and old fear. "Page forty-two," said Margaret. Her voice was low. A whisper in a cathedral. Thomas turned the page. His hands shook. He pressed them flat against the desk. The wood was cold. "There is a name here that should not be," she said. He read it. *Julian...
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