The Golden Harbor
The watch on Elias Thorne’s wrist ticked four seconds too fast, a mechanical stutter he had noticed only since the last dream. He counted the seconds in the dark, one, two, three, four, until the number four felt like a bruise on his tongue. He had dreamed of drowning in golden syrup again, the thick, amber fluid filling his lungs not with the panic of airlessness, but with the heavy, sweet...
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