The Golden Harbor
The rain did not fall so much as it was driven into the stone, a horizontal lash that turned the courtyard of the Blackwood Asylum into a churning gray soup. Elias Thorne stood beneath the arch of the main gate, the iron bars vibrating with the force of the storm, his hand white-knuckled around the rusted key that had been smuggled out of the evidence locker three nights prior. He was...
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