The Pale Echo
The watch was heavy. That was the first thing Arthur noticed. He held it in his left hand, the metal cold against his palm, the chain digging into the skin of his wrist like a wire. It was a gold pocket watch. Engraved on the back was a single, jagged line. A scar. He looked at the face. The hands were stuck at three-fourteen. The second hand did not tick. It lay still, a dead needle pointing...
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