The Golden Harbor
Thorne. The name was shouted from the mist, a ragged sound that broke the heavy silence of the Blackwood harbor. Elias Thorne did not turn. He stood with his back to the churning water, his hand resting on the cold, damp stone of the quay, feeling the grain of the rock under his calloused fingers. He was forty years old, a warden of the Crown’s maritime assets, and he had twenty years of...
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