The Golden Harbor
The long table in the village hall groaned under the weight of roasted pork, dark ale, and loaves of bread that had risen high in the oven’s heat. Elias Thorne sat at the head, his constable’s badge cold against his chest, his eyes fixed not on the food but on the empty chair beside him. The air in Blackwood was thick, a humid weight that pressed against the skin, but the true dread came from...
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