The Golden Harbor
"You’re holding it wrong, Elias. The ink’s still wet." The voice came from the fog, or so it seemed, though there was no one standing in the doorway of the sheriff’s office. Elias Thorne looked down at his hands. They were shaking, not from cold, but from the weight of the leather-bound ledger in his grip. The book was heavy, its spine cracked and patched with tape that had long since lost its...
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