The Wistful Throne
The gears did not tick; they screamed. I stood before the Grand Atrium’s central mechanism, my hands trembling as I tightened the final coupling, the brass cold and slick under my gloves. "It is done, Thorne," I said, my voice sounding thin in the vast, echoing space. "The tolerance is within a thousandth of a millimeter." Chief Architect Halloway stood behind me, his back to the window where...
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