The Distant Wound
The rain in Sector 4 did not wash things clean; it only made the grime slicker. Elias Thorne stood in the center of his apartment, a sterile box of white plastic and recycled air, holding the pocket watch up to the dim light. The glass face was cracked, a spiderweb fracture running from the twelve to the six, but the mechanism inside was alive. It ticked in reverse. *Tick. Tick. Tick.* The...
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