The Distant Legend
The ledger showed forty-three hours of overtime, which meant forty-three hours of silence in the factory floor. Elias Thorne counted the screws in his pocket, seven of them, brass and cold, feeling the weight of each against his thumb. He was forty years old, a clockmaker from a smaller town, and he had come to Oakhaven for a reason that did not fit in a ledger. He wanted the gear. The mythical...
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