The Wistful Dinner
The screwdriver slipped, a thin, metallic shriek that cut through the silence of the workshop, and Elias Thorne caught the falling gear before it hit the floor, his fingers trembling with a violence that had nothing to do with the cold. He was forty-five years old, a master clockmaker in a city that respected only the ticking of its own commerce, and he had until dawn to repair the Grand...
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