The Clockwork District hummed with a frantic energy, a symphony of hissing steam, clanking gears, and the high-pitched whine of unidentifiable machinery. Alistair, still reeling from the dizzying sensation of temporal shifts, followed Isobel through a labyrinth of narrow workshops, each overflowing with half-finished inventions and spare parts. The air hung thick with the scent of oil, metal, and the faintest undercurrent of ozone.