The Faded Ruin
The auditor’s voice was flat, stripped of all human inflection, like a stamp pressed into wet clay. "The Aetherial Chronometer is state property as of the fourth of November. You will surrender the device and your workshop keys." Elias Thorne did not answer. He stood in the center of his shop, the air thick with the smell of oil and the cold damp that seeped through the brickwork. The machine...
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