Chapter Two — The Stranger's Bag
Mara didn't consider herself a runner. She considered herself a caffeine-dependent, stair-avoiding, Uber-using adult. But with an eldritch eyeball peeking out of a cosmic crack overhead, she discovered she had at least one sprint left in her.
Her boots slapped against the pavement as she bolted, weaving between panicked pedestrians. Jonah ran beside her, duffel bag bouncing against his side. He didn't even look winded. Which, frankly, annoyed Mara.
"Do you—" she huffed between strides, "—do this often? Just… jog through the apocalypse?"
"Keep moving," Jonah barked, not even glancing her way.
"Right. No small talk while the sky is watching. Got it."
Behind them, the crowd dissolved into chaos. Some dropped flat to the ground, covering their heads. Others ran in every direction, colliding like ants under a magnifying glass. And above it all, that enormous eye tracked the square, its gaze sweeping lazily across rooftops and streets.
When its spotlight beam slid closer, Mara's lungs nearly gave out. She dove into an alley, pulling Jonah with her. They pressed against damp brick walls, hearts pounding.
The light passed. For now.
Mara bent double, gasping for air. "Okay," she wheezed. "Top ten least favorite Wednesdays. Actually, scratch that. Top one."
Jonah didn't laugh. He adjusted the strap of his duffel bag, eyes scanning the alley mouth. "We can't stay here."
Mara straightened, clutching her side. "You keep saying 'we.' Did I accidentally agree to partner up while I was hyperventilating? Because I don't recall signing the apocalypse buddy contract."
"You don't have a choice," he said flatly.
"Oh, I definitely do. Choices include: one, running home and hiding under my bed. Two, denial. Big fan of denial."
Jonah finally looked at her—really looked—and for a second, Mara saw something unsettling in his expression. Not fear. Not even determination. More like… recognition.
"You're in this whether you want to be or not," he said. "The crack opened for a reason. And you—" he jabbed a finger at her "—you're part of it."
Mara blinked. Then laughed. Actually laughed. "Oh, good. I'm chosen. Always wanted that on my résumé. Right between 'can microwave ramen' and 'occasional karaoke champion.'"
Jonah didn't smile.
Mara's laughter died in her throat. She swallowed. "You're serious."
"Yes."
"Why me?"
He hesitated, then tugged at the zipper of his bag. The metal teeth parted, revealing—Mara squinted—what looked like… books? Old, leather-bound tomes shoved next to rolls of maps, strange instruments, and a weapon that definitely wasn't legal to carry in Boston.
She stared. "Please tell me that's a prop collection for a very elaborate Dungeons & Dragons campaign."
Jonah zipped the bag shut again. "These are tools. And if I'm right, you'll know how to use them."
"Me?" Mara said. "The woman who once set toast on fire in a toaster?"
Jonah's jaw tightened. He slung the bag higher on his shoulder. "We need to move. I'll explain when we're safe."
Before Mara could protest, a low hum reverberated through the air. The bricks at her back buzzed. Her teeth buzzed.
She froze. "Jonah… please tell me that's just a passing subway car."
"It's not."
The hum grew louder, vibrating in her bones. Shadows spilled into the alley, twisting unnaturally, stretching long fingers across the pavement. They weren't tied to any light source. They were moving on their own.
"Oh, absolutely not," Mara whispered.
One shadow reared up, peeling itself off the wall like tar. It formed something vaguely humanoid—long arms, no face, mouth splitting open where no mouth should be.
Mara clutched Jonah's sleeve. "I vote denial again. Really solid option right now."
Jonah dropped the bag. In one smooth motion, he pulled out the weapon she'd glimpsed earlier. It was a staff—metallic, etched with glowing lines. When he snapped it open, the hum shifted, resonating with it like tuning forks clashing.
"Stay behind me," he ordered.
Mara swallowed hard. "Sure. Yep. Behind the apocalypse cosplayer with the glowing stick. Totally safe."
The shadow lunged. Jonah swung the staff, a blinding arc of light slicing through the darkness. The thing shrieked—a sound like nails on glass—and dissipated into smoke.
Two more slid forward. Jonah fought with practiced precision, staff cracking like lightning, light slashing through ink. But for each one he destroyed, another oozed free from the walls.
Mara's stomach flipped. They were surrounded.
Jonah glanced back at her. "Open the bag!"
"What?"
"Open it! You'll know what to grab!"
Mara dropped to her knees, yanking the zipper open again. Her hands shook as she rummaged through ancient tomes, bizarre gadgets, a compass spinning madly. Nothing screamed monster repellent.
Then her fingers brushed a small object—round, warm to the touch, humming faintly like a heartbeat. She pulled it free.
It was a pocket watch.
The moment she held it, the ticking inside aligned with her pulse. The shadows froze, heads tilting toward her like predators scenting prey.
Mara's throat went dry. "Jonah? Why are they staring at me like I'm the world's worst buffet?"
His eyes widened. "Because you activated it."
"Activated what?"
"The Chronometer."
One shadow lunged. Mara, purely on instinct, snapped the watch open.
Time… broke.
The alley stilled. The shadows froze mid-lunge, black jaws hanging open. The falling raindrops outside the alley hovered in midair like crystal beads. Jonah's staff hung mid-swing, a blur of light locked in place.
Only Mara could move.
She gaped at the watch, heart racing. "Okay," she whispered. "So denial is officially off the table."
The hum faded. Slowly, the world ticked back into motion. Shadows recoiled, screeching, as if burned. Jonah slammed his staff down, blasting them into smoke. Silence followed, broken only by Mara's ragged breathing.
Jonah turned to her, sweat dripping down his brow. His voice was steady, though. Almost reverent.
"You just proved it," he said. "You're the key."
Mara snapped the watch shut. Her voice came out shaky. "Key to what, exactly?"
Jonah's answer was grim.
"To stopping what's trying to come through that crack."
Mara blinked, still clutching the watch like a lifeline. Then she muttered:
"Great. I can barely stop myself from ordering late-night pizza, but sure—let's put the fate of time itself in my hands."