Chapter 3: A Thread Unraveled, III
The wind carried a sharpness that hadn't been there yesterday.
Autumn had turned a corner, and the morning light filtered through the shutters with a kind of brittle clarity—like something waiting to crack. Shuji said nothing when I came down. He didn't need to. I could tell by the way he stood at the counter, staring at a clock that wasn't ticking.
It was a well-mounted timepiece. Newer. Ornate. Not one of ours.
"Brought it in just now," he said finally. "she said it stopped at the exact hour her mirror shattered."
"Odd timing."
He glanced at me. "That's one way to phrase it."
"Not this time."
He taped the face of the clock with two fingers. "Thing's not broken. Spring's fine. Balance wheel's clean. Even the escapement's steady." A pause. "It just refuses to move."
I stepped closer. Its hands were frozen at 4:44.
There was a pressure to the silence. Not tension—just expectation. The longer I stared, the more I felt like something was staring back.
Shuji muttered something and walked into the back. I stood alone with the clock.