The Distant Journey
The brass escapement wheel trembles in your palm, a tiny sun of teeth and metal, catching the grey light from the high, dirty window. It is cold, colder than it should be, and the weight of it feels wrong, like a stone dropped into a well. You look up, and Julian is standing in the doorway of the workshop, his hands tucked into the pockets of his worn waistcoat, watching you with a stillness...
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