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... rew ever nearer, and the dense fog cloaking it, as well as the silhouettes within that fog, became increasingly clearer—Lawrence stood on the prow deck of the White Oak, gripping the railing before him so tightly that his knuckles had gone white.
Anyone would be nervous, even a seasoned captain who had spent the better part of his life adrift on the Endless Sea—what lay on that island? What was lurking in the shadows of that dense fog? Why did the island seem to appear around the White O ...
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