The Golden Harbor
You hear the bell before you see the door. It rings once. Sharp. Cold. You are standing in the fog. The air tastes of iron and wet stone. You reach for the handle. It is cold. Your fingers are numb. You pull. The door opens. Inside is a room. Not a house. A room. Walls of black oak. Floor of slate. A single table. Two chairs. A man sits in one. He wears a coat of grey wool. His hands rest on...
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