The Faded Photograph
The train hissed to a halt in Oakhaven, exhaling a plume of black steam that mingled with the perpetual gray haze of the industrial city. Elias Thorne stepped onto the platform, his leather case heavy against his hip, the brass tools inside clinking with a rhythm that felt too precise for the chaotic air. He was thirty-two, a master clockmaker from the coast, but here he was just a man with a...
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