The Golden Harbor
The fog rolled off the water like a grey shroud, swallowing the mast of the *Ironclad* until only the white of its sails remained, a ghost against the darkening sky. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the pier, his boots slick with condensation, watching the ship slip away from the harbor he had guarded for thirty years. His left hand, tucked into his coat pocket, twitched with a violent,...
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