Clara’s left hand trembled against the cold brass face of the switchboard.
A steady trickle of dark crimson blood dripped from her earlobe, staining the collar of her grey wool coat.
Yet her fingers stayed locked around the black ebonite handle of Listening Key 14.
“Don’t let go, Clara,” Julian said softly, his voice steady in the storm.
He stood at her left elbow, his tools laid out across the narrow mahogany shelf.
“Hold the key in the monitor position,” Julian instructed. “Keep the audio loop open.”
Clara nodded, her teeth gritted tight against the throbbing pain in her temples.
“I’m holding it, Jules,” Clara whispered, her voice rasping with strain.
