The Golden Echoes
The fog rolled into Oakhaven like a wet wool blanket, heavy and suffocating, swallowing the cobblestones whole. Elias Vance pulled his coat tighter, the brass gears of his watch ticking against his wrist, a frantic counter-rhythm to the silence of the street. He was thirty-two, a clockmaker by trade, though the title felt like a lie now that his hands trembled around the wrench. He had come...
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