The Golden Harbor
The deed lay on the table, its edges curling from the damp, the ink already blurring into a grey smear. Elara pushed it forward with a single finger, the tip of her nail scraping against the salt-crusted wood of the kitchen table. "Sign it, Julian," she said. Her voice was steady, though the air in the room felt thick, pressing against her eardrums like deep water. Julian stood by the window,...
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