Back in the quiet shelter of my bookshop, Petal Holmes—a sanctuary stitched with paper and ink—the silver watch weighs heavy in my pocket. It hums like a secret I was never meant to hold. Its hands flicker without logic, back and forth, as though time is broken... or laughing at me.
Tending not to think too much, I try focusing on restocking the shelves. The scent of old paper and worn leather usually calms me—a ritual I've clung to since Dad's death. But today, even silence feels restless—haunted by Nate's voice:
"A keeper of secrets… and you, Jane, may be part of one."
The sight of his green eyes lingers in my mind—piercing, yet distant. In my dreams, a glowing clock spins madly, time unraveling. Nate's voice echoes through it all, urgent and grave:
"Time is fragile."
I wake uneasy, the feeling settling around me like morning fog—heavy and inescapable.
By evening, the need to confide in someone overwhelms me. I hurriedly leave for the other side of Eldridge Hollow. Over there, my close friend Maggie Robinson owns a seamstress shop.
Within Maggie's shop, warmth lives in folds of fabric and the promise of dresses not yet finished. She's been at my side since girlhood—when stolen biscuits and shared glances meant everything.
We gossip about my visit to Burner's Timeworks, Nate's invitation, the uncanny watch, and the strange hum still echoing. Maggie's needle freezes in place. Her curls spring as she leans closer, eyes lit with curiosity and just a hint of alarm.
> "Nate Burner," she says, her voice a mix of excitement and caution. "He's good-looking, Jane. In a haunted way, yes."
She glances around, as if the shop might hear her.
"They say his bloodline carries a curse—the kind that winds through generations."
I lean against a table piled with textile material, skepticism sharpening my tone.
"Cursed? Seriously? That's just some town gossip, Maggie."
She shakes her head as she sets her sewing machine aside and pulls her seat closer to me.
"My aunt swears the Burner's were tangled up in something unnatural. Unknown. Nate's father, Vince, disappeared years ago after toying with the clock."
She lowers her voice.
"Words have it... it could change fates, rewind moments, even glimpse the future. That's why no one goes near the shop."
The watch's metal is cold against my skin, sending a shiver through me as my fingers graze it.
"That's absurd," I murmur—but doubt slips into my voice.
Its ticking is wild, frantic—like a pulse pressed to my palm.
Maggie's warning stirs old echoes: Dad's stories of strange clocks and strange fates. I'd always thought them fiction. But maybe—just maybe—they were warnings in disguise.
Maggie's eyes narrow, catching my hesitation.
"Eldridge Hollow has secrets, Jane. You've felt it. The way the fog seems to listen... the way time drags in this town. Just... watch yourself with Nate."
I nod, but her warnings cling to me like smoke.
Back at Petal Holmes, I kneel beside a forgotten crate—its wood splintered, the corners softened by time. Inside, old records and histories sleep beneath a film of dust. I shift through them slowly, as if the truth might rise from the pages like mist.
The air smells of brittle parchment and memory. Whispers of the Burners' name appear—fleeting mentions of peculiar inventions, of relics not meant for mortal hands.
Then, nestled between two crumbling almanacs, I find it: a pamphlet. Its ink is faded, its cover curled like a question. It speaks of a clock said to "hold dominion over time itself." Though the author brushes it off as folklore, the words hum with something ancient.
My pulse stumbles.
In my pocket, the watch ticks louder—no longer erratic, but steady and sure, like it knows I'm listening. And somewhere beneath the silence... time leans in.
Curiosity pulls me back to Burner's Timeworks that evening. Inside, the symphony of ticking greets me. Nate is seated in a corner, working on a grandfather clock, his fingers deft with a screwdriver.
He looks up, unsurprised—like he knew I would come.
"You're back," he says, voice low, laced with a warmth that curls in my belly—soft as candlelight.
"Why me?" I ask, holding up the watch—its silver glinting in the gaslight. "Why give me this?"
He sets his tools down, his green eyes shadowed.
"My family's legacy is a clock that bends time—rewinds moments, glimpses the future. But every use has a cost. My father disappeared trying to save my mother."
My breath catches.
"You mean… he vanished because of it?"
He nods, jaw tight.
"I've sworn to protect it with everything I have. But I need help."
I step closer. The air between us hums—charged and alive.
"Why me?" I whisper again.
He meets my gaze, voice steady.
"Because you seek truth, not power. You see beyond the surface, Jane. That makes you different."
Something flickers in me—unfamiliar, but undeniable.
"Protect it… from what?"
His expression darkens—rage clouding his features.
"Lord Cedric Vale."
The name alone sends a chill down my spine. I know him—a smile to disarm, eyes glinting like winter glass. A hunger veiled in silk and silver—polished, but ravenous.
"What does he want?"
"Power," Nate says, voice taut. "The kind that rewrites time itself."
My fingers tighten around the watch. Its ticking grows louder, matching the beat of my heart.
"What would you have me do?"
"Keep it safe," he says, pausing. "It's more than a watch—it's a piece of the clock's soul. And Jane…"
"Stay close. We're in this together."