The Wistful Voyage
The ink smudged slightly under the tip of Elias Thorne’s pen as he scratched the date into the leather-bound journal, the damp air of Harrow seeping through the thin walls of his cramped office and settling on the paper like a cold sweat. Outside, the fog rolled off the harbor in thick, grey tendrils, swallowing the rusted cranes and the skeletal remains of ships that had once carried the...
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