The Golden Harbor
The fire did not begin with a spark, but with a scream that tore through the heavy velvet curtains of the Grand Hall at Blackwood Manor, a sound so raw and human that it seemed to crack the very stones of the foundation. It was a Tuesday in November, the kind of wet, grey day that clings to the bones, and the air inside the palace of the industrialist Julian Vane was thick with the scent of...
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