The Distant Clue
The cracked pocket watch sat in Thomas Vane’s palm, its brass casing warm from the friction of his sweating fingers, the glass face spider-webbed by a hairline fracture that ran diagonally across the twelve, a flaw that seemed to widen every time he blinked. It was a heavy thing, a piece of his father’s trade made personal, and when Thomas held it up to the dim light of the kitchen, the second...
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