The Golden Harbor
The rain against the windowpane of the study sounded like the slow, deliberate tapping of fingernails on wood. Elias sat in the high-backed leather chair, his hands resting on the arms, palms flat, as if to anchor himself against a tilt in the floor that wasn't there. The room was dark, save for the single bulb hanging from the ceiling, which cast a sickly yellow pallor over the mahogany...
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