Josi wasn’t just a mechanic; she was a "mender of lost causes." People brought her things that shouldn't work—shattered heirlooms, silent automatons, and reputations.
"One more turn," she whispered, her voice rasping from the dry air.
The air in the basement was thick with the scent of old paper and ozone. Josi Valentine adjusted her goggles, the brass frames digging slightly into her cheekbones. On the workbench before her lay the "Heart of Aethelgard," a clockwork mechanism that supposedly pumped life into the city’s failing atmospheric domes.
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