There was no reply, only the heavy, rhythmic thud of something being placed on the counter. Elias straightened, wiping grease from his hands with a rag. Standing there was a young girl, no older than ten, drenched to the bone. She wasn't carrying a broken clock or a jammed lock—the usual fare for Oakhaven’s only tinkerer.
He didn't look up. "We’re closed, Silas. Come back when the sun decides to show itself." Continue
The "singing" is actually a message in a language only Elias can understand. There was no reply, only the heavy, rhythmic
Instead, she pushed a small, brass cylinder toward him. It hummed with a low, vibrating frequency that made the hair on Elias’s arms stand up. There was no reply