The fog tasted like wet soot and decay.
Aria stumbled onto cobblestones slick with something foul.
Behind her, the tear in her studio wall snapped shut—leaving only damp, grimy brick.
Trapped. In 1895.
Elias's voice was a thread of warmth in her mind, strained but clear:
"Left. Down the alley. Quickly!"
She ran.
Her modern jeans and sweater vanished mid-stride, replaced by a coarse woolen dress, itchy petticoats, and a shawl smelling of lye soap.
The watch hummed against her chest—a low, protective thrum.
---
THE BOY IN THE SHADOWS
A small hand grabbed hers.
The golden-eyed boy.
He wore ragged trousers and a flat cap now—a perfect street urchin.
"This way!" he hissed, dragging her into a narrow close.
Rats scurried over their boots.
"They felt the Door open. Keepers hunt."
Aria pressed against cold brick. "Who are you?"
"Aeon," he said simply. "I watch the cracks. Like this one." He pointed to a patch of air shimmering like oil on water. Through it, Aria saw flashes of her empty studio.
"Why help me?"
His gold eyes gleamed. "Elias traded his forever for your now. Least I can do is keep you alive long enough to waste it."
---
THE WHITECHAPEL WHISPER
They emerged near a market square.
Gas lamps cast sickly halos. Women in shawls huddled over baskets of wilted flowers.
A newsboy's cry cut the gloom:
"READ ALL ABOUT IT! FOURTH VICTIM FOUND IN WHITECHAPEL! THROAT CUT EAR TO EAR!"
Aeon's hand tightened. "He's here. The Fracture-Feeder. Caelum's hound."
"The killer?"
"Worse. He doesn't just kill." Aeon's voice dropped. "He eats time. Leaves husks."
Elias's whisper bled panic:
"Aria blood on the watch get out !"
Too late.
---
THE GLITCHING HORROR
A woman screamed.
Not fear. Shattering glass.
Aria turned.
Near a butcher's stall, a woman in a grey dress flickered
One second, young, dark-haired, clutching her throat
Next, a desiccated corpse, skin like parchment, eyes hollow voids
Then young again, screaming silently as her edges pixelated.
The Watch on Aria's chest burned ice-cold.
A tall man stood over the woman.
Top hat. Long coat. No face just shifting static.
In his gloved hand: a long, jagged shard of black glass.
"Time-Thief!" Aeon spat.
The static-faced man turned.
His "gaze" locked onto Aria's chest.
Onto the glowing watch.
---
Aria ran.
Alleys twisted like nightmares.
Footsteps echoed behind her too fast, too many.
"LEFT!" Elias roared in her mind.
She ducked into a dead-end courtyard.
Trapped.
The Time-Thief stepped into the moonlit space.
He raised the black glass shard.
It hummed with hunger.
"The Keeper's pet," a buzzing voice grated from the static. "Give me the Key. Or join the husk."
Aria fumbled for the watch
A hand grabbed her shoulder.
Solid. Warm.
She spun.
Elias stood beside her.
Not quite real flickering, translucent, like a photograph developing in bad light.
Blood streaked his ghostly temple. His eyes were desperate.
"Throw it!" he yelled.
---
THE WATCH'S SECRET
Aria yanked the chain free.
The Time-Thief lunged, black blade slicing air.
She hurled the watch
Not at him.
At the shimmering puddle at her feet.
The brass watch hit the filthy water.
And sank.
For a heartbeat nothing.
The Time-Thief laughed, a sound like breaking radios.
Then
The puddle EXPLODED.
Not water.
Liquid gold.
It surged upward, forming a whirling, humanoid shape
A woman made of molten time.
Elenora.
Her voice was a hundred ticking clocks:
"YOU DO NOT TOUCH WHAT IS MINE."
She grabbed the Time-Thief.
His static face screamed silently as gold flooded his mouth, his eyes, his coat.
He dissolved not into blood, but into fragments of broken hours
A child's laugh
A bomb blast
A dying star
Gone.
Elenora's golden form turned to Aria.
No face. Just radiant, terrible mercy.
She pointed a dripping finger at the watch, now lying dry and still on the cobbles.
HEAR HIM. TRUST HIM. THE DOORS ARE OPENING.
She collapsed back into a puddle.
Just dirty water again.
---
THE AFTERMATH
Aria scooped up the watch. It pulsed once warm.
Elias's ghost knelt beside the murdered woman.
Her body was solid now. Young. Throat slit.
But her eyes were frozen open staring at something only the dead see.
"He wasn't just killing her," Elias whispered, voice thick with grief. "He was stealing her 'now'. Feeding it to Caelum." He touched the woman's cold hand. "She's… empty. No time left to even become a memory."
Aeon stepped from the shadows. He kicked a pebble into the bloody puddle.
"Five Doors opened tonight," he said flatly. "Whitechapel's just the first. Caelum's hungry." He met Aria's eyes. "Want to save Elias? Find the Maker. He's the only one who knows how to break the cage… or build a better one."
He tossed her a tarnished key.
No door. No label. Just cold iron.
"Clockmaker's Lane," Aeon said, fading into the fog. "Ask for the man who fixes broken hearts. He'll be expecting you."
Aria clutched the key.
Elias's ghost shimmered beside her, gazing at the dead woman.
His hand passed through hers. Cold. Fleeting.
"I'm so sorry," he murmured.
"For what?"
"That you have to walk this path."
Aria looked down at the silent watch.
Then at the key.
Her choice was made.
"Then walk it with me," she said.
And stepped over the dead woman's outstretched hand.
Toward the ticking heart of London.
---
(END OF CHAPTER 3)