The Faded River
The manifest listed forty-seven tons of iron ore, but Elias Thorne counted the knots in the mooring lines instead, thirty-two in total, each one a small, tight fist against the rotting wood of the dock. The smell of the river at this hour was not the clean, mineral scent of the source but a thick, coppery tang of rust and sewage that clung to the back of his throat, a physical weight that...
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