The Pale Tower
Act I Three days after the front lines crossed the river, Aleksei Morozov found that every clock in his workshop had stopped at the exact same minute, a silence so heavy it pressed against his eardrums like deep water. He was forty-five, his hands stained with oil and the rust of old brass, and he had spent three years assembling the intricate mechanism for Colonel Volkov, a patron who spoke of...
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