The Golden Harbor
The ink was wet. It bled into the grain of the paper, a dark vein spreading like a bruise. Elias did not look up. He pressed the nib harder. The scratch of the steel against the fiber was the only sound in the room. Outside, the wind tore at the eaves. It shook the windowpanes in their frames. A rattle. A threat. The house was old. It had deep bones. The floorboards groaned under his weight....
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