The Pale Shadows
The gear was wrong. Elias Thorne held the brass wheel up to the single bare bulb hanging from the workshop ceiling. It was a standard escape wheel, thirty teeth, milled from high-grade alloy. It should have fit the pallets. It didn’t. The teeth were too thick, or perhaps the spacing was off by a fraction of a millimeter. He turned it over in his fingers, the metal cold and smooth. His right...
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