The Distant Promise
The brass escapement wheel was cold under Elias Thorne’s thumb, its teeth sharp enough to bite skin if he gripped too hard. He set it into the velvet-lined tray on the banquet table, the clatter of metal on wood cutting through the humid, heavy air of the Thorne manor. Thirty-two years old, a master clockmaker, and currently the most insolvent man in the county. The room was a suffocating...
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