The Golden Harbor
The blood was thick and hot against Elias Thorne’s knuckles, a visceral, coppery weight that felt less like an injury and more like a secret being forced into his skin, while the shadow in the corner of the cellar did not move, did not breathe, but simply waited with the patience of stone, and he knew, with a clarity that cut through the fog of his exhaustion, that this was not the first time...
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