The Golden Harbor
The fog did not roll in so much as it rose, a thick, gray wool that strangled the harbor of Oakhaven before the sun had the decency to show itself. It was a cold that seeped into the marrow, the kind that settled into the joints and refused to leave, and Elias Thorne felt it in his knees as he stood on the pier, his lantern swinging in the damp air. He was not a man who sought out darkness, but...
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