The Distant Clue
The clock in the center of the shop did not tick. It stood silent, its brass face polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the dim, amber light of the evening. Elias Thorne stood before it, his hands resting on the cold metal of the counter. He was a man of sixty years, with hands that trembled only when he was not working, and eyes that had seen the wear of decades. The shop was small, a single...
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