The Golden Oath
The fog that rolled in from the harbor did not merely obscure the city; it swallowed it, turning the cobblestones of the old quarter into a slick, black mirror where the gaslights bled their yellow halos into the wet pavement. It was a cold, industrial damp, the kind that settled in the joints and stayed there long after the sun had gone down, and for Elias Thorne, it felt like a physical...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews