Elara found the third gear in the belly of the cuckoo clock, nestled between two brass plates like a secret. It was smaller than her thumbnail, its teeth worn smooth by decades of use. When she held it to the light, the metal gleamed with a faint blue tint—an alloy her master had never mentioned in their lessons.
“Where did this come from?” she whispered, turning it over in her fingers. The workshop was silent, save for the ticking of the half-finished clocks on the walls. She had spent the morning sweeping the floor, as punishment for her earlier curiosity, but the broom had uncovered more than dust. Beneath the workbench, a loose floorboard had given way to a shallow compartment, and inside, a small wooden box. The gear was the first thing she’d pulled from it.
Her master’s voice echoed in her memory: “A clock is only as honest as its maker.” But what did that make a clock with a gear no one was supposed to know about?
She slipped the gear into her apron pocket and replaced the box, careful to leave no trace. The cuckoo clock was due to be finished by week’s end, and her master had promised to show her how to set the chimes. If she could solve the mystery of the gear before then, perhaps she’d earn more than just a lesson.
That night, she dreamed of gears turning in the dark, their teeth interlocking with whispers.