The Golden Harbor
The iron gate of Blackwood Priory shudders under your palms, the cold metal biting into skin that has forgotten how to feel warmth. You are Elias, thirty-two, a warden whose hands are stained not with ink but with the grime of a man who has spent too long digging for truth in damp stone. Your wife, Clara, sits in the debtors’ prison beyond these walls, her breath a fragile thing in the freezing...
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