The Golden Harbor
The steward’s voice cut through the damp air of the cellar, a low rumble that vibrated in the floorboards. "Elias." The boy froze, his knuckles white against the torn page he clutched. He was twelve, small for his age, with hands stained black by ink that would not wash out. The page was a fragment of his father’s ledger, a document of such forbidden weight that merely touching it felt like...
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