The Distant Machine
The ink had barely dried on the final letter, the one that would seal his fate, when Elias Thorne felt the first true weight of the silence that followed. It was not a quiet silence, but a hollowed-out absence, a vacuum where the hum of the workshop should have been, where the rhythmic clatter of the looms and the sharp, metallic taste of the air should have filled his lungs. He sat at the edge...
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