The Golden Harbor
The magistrate’s fist connected with my jaw, and the taste of copper flooded my mouth, thick and metallic, before I could even register the blow. I was gripping the edge of my workbench, my knuckles white, my left hand trembling so violently that the fine hairs on the back of my wrist stood on end, a supernatural sensitivity to the ticking of the seconds that had plagued me since I was a boy,...
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