The Golden Harbor
The gaslight in the lantern room hissed like a dying snake, casting long, trembling shadows that seemed to breathe against the curved glass. You are Elias Thorne, a constable of thirty-four years whose hands have turned rough and gray from gripping the cold iron of duty, and you stand now at the precipice of a ruin that smells of rotting gold and old blood. Your brother, Thomas, sits in the...
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