The Golden Harbor
The rain does not fall so much as it hammers, a relentless, rhythmic assault against the single pane of glass in the study of Blackwood Manor, a sound that vibrates in the hollow of your chest where the silence usually lives. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a man who has spent the last decade trying to outrun the weight of his own hands, and now you sit in the draft, the cold seeping...
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