The Pale Shadows
The first thing you notice, in the early morning hours when the city of Oakhaven is still holding its breath under a blanket of gray fog, is the tremor in your left hand, a fine, rhythmic shiver that makes the tweezers dance like a nervous insect as you attempt to seat the escapement wheel of the Great Meridian Clock. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, and you have spent the last twenty...
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