The air in the clockshop smelled of oil and aged wood, a scent Lila had always associated with secrets. She adjusted the brass goggles perched on her forehead, squinting at the intricate gears scattered across the workbench. Mr. Thorne’s voice…
The first time Lila saw the symbol, it was etched into the bark of an oak behind her grandmother’s house, half-buried in moss and rot. She traced the jagged lines with her thumb, feeling the grooves sink into her skin…
## The Stillborn City The rain tasted of ash. Elias pressed his face deeper into the worn collar of his raincoat, feeling the damp chill seep into his bones. He’s been tracking these cases for six months—cases that defy logic,…