The Golden Harbor
The rain fell in sheets, turning the cobblestones of Blackwood Manor’s courtyard into a mirror of mud and grey light. Sir Aldric Vane stood with his back against the cold stone wall, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. In his left hand, he gripped a silver clasp, its surface tarnished and cold, stolen from the dead Lord’s bedside three hours prior. He had not come for the gold, nor for...
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