The rhythmic tick-tock of Astrid’s workshop, usually a comforting lullaby, had become a relentless drumbeat in Camille's ears. Astrid, usually so precise and focused, had been… distracted lately. More withdrawn, perhaps, her brow perpetually furrowed in a way Camille hadn't seen before. Camille attributed it to the usual pressures of running a small business, the ever-increasing competition from mass-produced, digital timepieces. But there was something more, a subtle shift in Astrid's energy, a quiet sadness that clung to her like the scent of metal filings.