The Distant Wound
The first thing you notice is the silence. It is not the absence of sound, but a heavy, pressurized quiet that sits on your chest like a wet wool coat. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, and your hands are shaking. They have always been steady, precise instruments of craft, but today they tremble as you hold the tweezers over the Grand Meridian’s escapement. The city of Oakhaven is...
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