The Golden Downtown
The fracture in the old clockmaker’s left hand was not a wound, but a history written in bone and cartilage, a jagged scar that ran from the knuckle of his thumb to the wrist, a testament to the violence he had once committed against the very instruments of time he was now sworn to protect and repair. It was a grey, leaden afternoon in the town of Oakhaven, a place where the fog clung to the...
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