The Golden Harbor
The smell of damp wool and old paper hung heavy in the corridor, a scent that Elias Thorne had come to associate with the slow decay of his own sanity. "Elias Thorne, step into my office. Now." The voice of Warden Halloway cut through the hum of the ventilation system, sharp and devoid of inflection. Elias paused, his hand still resting on the cold metal of the evidence locker door, and turned...
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