The Golden Myth
The first tremor arrived not as a sound but as a vibration in the soles of my feet, a low-frequency hum that traveled up through the oak floorboards and settled in the marrow of my shins. I was at the bench, the loupe pressed to my eye, fitting a ruby jewel bearing into the escapement of the great regulator, the one my father had left unfinished thirty years ago. The dust motes in the single...
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