The Faded Paradox
The clock in the square did not tick. It hummed. A low, vibrating thrum that lived in the teeth of anyone who stood beneath its face. Silas Vane stood there, his hands tucked deep into the pockets of his wool coat, watching the shadow of the hands stretch across the cobblestones like spilled ink. He was a man of precision. A clockmaker. But in this city, the gears had begun to eat the time...
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