A steady rhythm

A soft click caught my attention from beneath the lowest shelf. I slipped into the shadowed recess behind the heavy books. There, tucked against the baseboard, rested a small brass wind-up timer, forgotten in the dim corner. I placed one hand against its cold, ridged key. With slow, steady pressure, I turned it three clicks clockwise. It started to pulse with a low, rhythmic tick. I sat beside it in the quiet dust, listening to the small brass heartbeat measure out the morning.

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