The Distant Affair
The counter ticked four hundred and twelve times before Elias Thorne set down his loupe, the brass weight of it a small, comforting anchor against the cluttered workbench. He had been measuring the escapement wheel of the town’s great bell mechanism for six hours, his eyes burning with a dry, gritty ache that no amount of squinting could ease. The workshop smelled of oil and old paper, a scent...
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