The Pale Tale
The air in the assembly hall tasted of iron filings and stale coal smoke, a metallic tang that coated the back of Elias Thorne’s throat as he held the gear assembly up to the harsh overhead light. It was a masterpiece of precision, a complex interlocking of steel teeth cut to a tolerance of one-thousandth of an inch, the result of three years of sleepless nights and a decade of silent, grinding...
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