The Golden Harbor
The steam from the locomotive hung low over the tracks, a thick, sulfurous fog that clung to the rails like wet wool as Elias Thorne stepped onto the platform of Oakhaven Station. He was forty years old, his hands roughened by decades of drafting tables and iron gauges, and he carried with him the quiet, heavy weight of a pension that depended on a single signature. The Golden Harbor, a...
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