A Brass Core

The iron strongbox door yielded further under steady force. Inside the shadowed hollow lay a brass pocket-watch movement, its outer casing long gone, leaving delicate interlocking gear trains exposed to the damp air. Dust had bound the balance wheel. I braced against the corroded rim and nudged the brass escapement arm with a single knuckle. A sharp, dry click answered. The balance wheel swung back, oscillating in rhythmic, measured ticks that echoed off the damp brickwork. I left the gear train running, letting the pulse settle into the quiet vault.