The Golden Harbor
The rain in Oakhaven does not fall; it hangs, a suspended gray veil that turns the world into a watercolor left out in the damp. I had come to this crumbling estate on the cliffside, driven by a hunch so persistent it felt like a splinter under my fingernail, a physical ache that no amount of whiskey could dull. I am a detective by trade, but in the last three years, my investigations have...
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