The Golden Harbor
"The tide is turning, Elias." Captain Vane’s voice was dry, like the sound of sandpaper on rusted iron. He stood by the porthole of my office, his back to me, staring out at the gray churn of the harbor. I wanted to look at him, to see the judgment in his eyes, but I was looking at the water. The water was black, thick as oil, and in its surface, something moved that did not move with me. I had...
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