The Pale Verdict
Chapter One Armas Heikkinen’s hands were already deep in the entrails of the pocket watch, the brass casing open like a ribcage, when the snow began to fall outside the workshop window. He was fifty-two, a master clockmaker in a bronze-casting clan where precision was currency, and he was trying to fix a defect in the escapement that had haunted him for three days. The letter from Helsinki sat...
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