The Golden Harbor
The wind did not howl that night; it whispered, a dry, papery rustle that scraped against the glass of the lighthouse lantern room. Elias Thorne pressed his thumb against the cold brass of the locket, the metal biting into his skin, and felt the familiar, sickening pull in his chest. It was the third night of the Hollow Wind, and the lights of Oakhaven below had begun to flicker, not from the...
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