The Golden Harbor
The brass button on your uniform felt cold and hard against the linoleum floor, a small, heavy truth in a world made of smoke and lies. You had been standing in Chief Inspector Halloway’s office for twenty minutes, the air thick with the scent of stale tobacco and the wet, metallic tang of the harbor fog that seeped through the cracked windowpane. Halloway did not look up from his ledger; his...
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