The Wistful Voyage
Thorne, get down from there before you break your neck. The voice came from the yard below, muffled by the thickening fog that had rolled in off the estuary. Elias did not turn. He stood on the narrow ledge of the fourth-floor landing, his boots finding purchase on the slick, moss-eaten stone. The wind was a physical thing out there, a heavy hand shoving against his chest, trying to peel him...
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