The Golden Quest
The ink on the manifest was wet, though the crate had been sealed in the harbor for three days. Elias Thorne wiped his thumb across the paper, expecting a smudge, but the letters remained sharp, black, and absolute. He was forty years old, a customs inspector with twenty-two years of service and a spine that had not bent to a supervisor’s whim since the war. His brother, Julian, stood behind...
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