The Pale Meridian
"Is the foundation shifting again, Sergeant?" Elias Thorne stood in the shadow of the clock tower’s base, his boots planted firmly on the cobblestones of Oakhaven’s central square. The year was 1912, and the air tasted of coal smoke and wet iron. He did not answer immediately. He was listening to the hum. It was a low, grinding vibration that seemed to rise from the earth itself, a sound that...
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