The Golden Harbor
The tallow was cold in Elias’s fingers, a pale, waxy lump that resisted the heat of the strike. He pinched the wick, a nervous habit that had never quite left him, and the flame caught with a sharp hiss, casting a jagged shadow against the stone wall of the workshop. The fog outside was thick, pressing against the single, grimy window like a living thing seeking entry. It was the only sound in...
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