The Golden Maze
The hammer in your hand is heavy, heavier than the brass gears it is meant to strike, and the fog outside the workshop window presses against the glass like a living thing demanding entry. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a master horologist whose hands have trembled with arrhythmia for the better part of a decade, and you are standing before the unfinished Grand Orrery, the celestial...
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