The Golden Harbor
"Take the gold, Thomas. Leave the grief." The voice came from the shadows of the foundry, low and wet, like a man clearing phlegm from a throat that hadn’t worked in days. Thomas Vane stood by the furnace glass, the heat pressing against the back of his neck, a physical weight that made his skin prickle. He was twelve, though he felt older, older than the soot on his face or the ache in his...
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