The Golden Myth
The fog in Oakhaven did not merely obscure the harbor; it seemed to possess a texture, a heavy, wet wool that clung to the wool coats of the travelers and settled into the creases of the stone quay. Elias Thorne stepped off the steamer with a leather satchel that contained his tools, his reputation, and the desperate, hollow hope that had driven him three hundred miles from his home in the...
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