The Golden Harbor
The count was precise. One hundred and forty-two coins in the tin, enough for the train, the lodging, and the bribe. Elias Thorne weighed the tin in his palm, the metal cold and heavy against the calluses of his sergeant’s hand. He stood before the iron gates of Blackwood Asylum, the air thick with the smell of wet slate and something sweeter, cloying, like honey left too long in the sun. Clara...
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