The Distant Threshold
Thorne. The name hit the air like a slap. Elias Thorne looked up from the workbench, his tweezers hovering over the escapement of a customer’s chronometer. The man in the doorway did not step in. He stood in the threshold, blocking the grey light of the street, his coat soaked through to the skin. "Rent is due at noon, Mr. Thorne." Elias set the tweezers down. They clinked softly against the...
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