The Distant Temple
The rain in Oakhaven did not fall so much as it hovered, a persistent, damp mist that settled into the joints of the old brickwork and the knuckles of the men who worked there, a weather that seemed to conspire against the very idea of precision. Elias Thorne sat at his workbench, the air thick with the smell of brass filings and the faint, metallic tang of the tremor that had begun to creep...
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