The Pale Echo
The leather strap bit into your wrist as you lifted the final gear, the metal cold and heavy against your palm. You were forty years old, and your hands, once steady enough to adjust hairsprings, now trembled with the weight of a debt that had outlived its creditor. Master Aldous had died owing the town of Oakhaven a repair, a promise made in a fever delirium that you had inherited like a...
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