The Golden Myth
The fog rolled in off the harbor. It tasted of salt and rust. We stood on the dock. The air was thick. My brother, Silas, adjusted his cap. He did not look at me. He looked at the water. The water was black. It was still. "Keep your head down," he said. His voice was flat. "Don't let them see your face." I nodded. My hands shook. I kept them in my pockets. The wool of my coat felt heavy. It...
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