The Golden Harbor
The ledger weighed three pounds and four ounces, a heavy, leather-bound thing that smelled of stale tobacco and the particular, metallic tang of fear. Elias Thorne counted the entries twice, his finger tracing the indented lines of the ink, calculating the exact moment his life would cease to be his own. The fog outside the window of the Blackwood inn was not grey, but a thick, cloying amber...
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