The Distant Crown
The rope bit into Elias’s palms, a familiar, dull ache that anchored him to the wet wood of the pier. He hauled the coil tighter, his boots slipping on the slick planks, while the fog rolled in from the harbor like a heavy, grey wool blanket that smelled of brine and rot. Silas stood beside him, leaning on a rusted bollard, his face a mask of grey exhaustion that had deepened over the last...
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