The Pale Echo
The glass face of the Chronos pocket watch shattered before Elias Thorne had even finished counting the hairspring’s coils. It was a clean, jagged break, spider-webbing outward from the center, and the sound was not a crash but a sharp, dry crack, like a knuckle popping in a silent room. Elias looked down at his left palm, where the old scar from a lathe accident ran in a similar jagged line,...
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