The Golden Harbor
Thorne! The name was barked through the fog by a voice that sounded like gravel rolling in a tin can, and Elias turned, his neck joints grinding with a dry, painful click that he had learned to ignore. He stood on the wet planks of the Oakhaven pier, the dampness of the harbor seeping through the soles of his boots, the cold a physical weight that pressed against his ribs. He was forty years...
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