The Golden Mirror
The fracture was a hairline, barely visible unless the light caught the brass at a specific, oblique angle, yet to Elias Thorne, it was a chasm that threatened to swallow his reputation whole. It was the autumn of 1912, and the city of Oakhaven smelled of coal smoke and wet slate, a scent that had seeped into the very pores of his workshop, the Master Horologist’s Atelier, located on the ground...
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