The Golden Harbor
The gaslight in the interrogation room hissed, a thin, reedy complaint that seemed to mimic the dry rasp of Silas Vane’s voice as he leaned forward, his wrists still bound by the heavy iron cuffs that chafed against the skin of his pale forearms. "You speak of a golden harbor, Captain," Elias Thorne said, his voice low and stripped of its usual bureaucratic cadence, the words tasting like rust...
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