The Distant Journey
The mainspring snapped with a sound like a wet cough. You held your breath, the tweezers trembling in your fingers. The smell of oil and old brass hung thick in the air, a scent that had soaked into the very walls of the shop over the last forty years. Outside, the fog pressed against the windowpanes, a grey, suffocating blanket that muffled the streets of Ashworth. You were Elias, and you were...
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