The Golden Harbor
The rain fell in sheets against the iron gates of Blackwood Asylum, turning the courtyard into a mirror of grey mud and shattered glass. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood at the center of the yard, his revolver heavy in his hand, the metal slick with moisture and the sweat of his palms. He was thirty-four years old, a man whose life had been defined by the rigid architecture of duty, yet now the...
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