The Golden Harbor
The fog did not roll in; it materialized, thick as wool, erasing the horizon and the stars in equal measure. Elias Thorne stood alone on the deck of the HMS *Aethelgard*, his hands gripping the cold iron railing until his knuckles whitened. He was thirty-four, a warrant officer with twelve years of service, and he wanted only one thing: a transfer to the coast guard, a quiet post where the sea...
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