The Golden Suspect
The first gear slipped from your tweezers and clattered onto the oak floor, a sound like a bone snapping in a quiet room. You did not look down. You looked at the Grand Meridian, the great brass heart of the manor, and watched your shadow on the far wall reach for the escapement three seconds before your own hand did. It was a small, terrible thing, this lag. A delay in the soul’s echo. You had...
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