The Wistful Voyage
The fog rolled in from the harbor, thick and gray, swallowing the docks whole. Elias Vance stood on the edge of the pier, his coat collar turned up against the damp chill. He was a man who believed in the architecture of order. In his mind, the world was a machine of gears and levers, and if a gear slipped, it was because someone had tampered with it. Or because it was broken. He did not...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima