The Golden Harbor
The ironwork of the gate groaned against the rusted hinges, a sound like a dying lung, as Elias Thorne pushed through the threshold of the Blackwood estate for the third consecutive night, his shoulders hunched against the wind that seemed to possess a malicious intelligence, whipping the dead leaves into swirling vortexes that danced around his ankles with a mocking, almost sentient grace. He...
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