The Golden Harbor
The fog did not roll in so much as it exhaled, a thick, sulfurous breath that curled around the iron ribs of the Blackwood Pier and settled into the lungs of Captain Elias Thorne before he had even stepped off the steamship. He was thirty-four years old, a man whose health was already a ledger of deficits, his chest tight with a cough that tasted of rust and iron, and he had come to this...
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