The Wistful Mountain
The contract is signed, Elias, and the ink is still wet on the parchment, so why do you look as though you have swallowed a stone? Vane’s voice was dry, stripped of the honeyed warmth he usually deployed for the press, but Elias did not look at him. He looked at the Aeternum. It sat on the oak table at the center of the factory office, a brass heart beating in the dim light, its gears turning...
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