Chapter 7: The First Reflection, III
Smoke lingered in the shop.
Not real smoke—not from fire. But something heavier. Thinner. Like the echo of something that tried to burn through, and failed.
Glass crunched underfoot as I shifted to stand. Every tick of the surviving clocks sounded unnatural now. Too loud. Too slow. Like time itself was catching its breath.
Tatsuya still hadn't moved.
His sword was sheathed, but his eyes hadn't changed. He stood near the doorway, staring down at his hands like he didn't recognize them. Rin sat on the floor beside the workbench, clothing that same old charm, her face pale but composed.
I felt like I was underwater—floating, breathless, stunned.
Then Shuji's voice cut through the haze.
"Sit."
We did.
He moved through the room like it was just another day's mess—stepping over splintered wood, brushing dust from an old chair, wiping glass from the counter with the same cloth he used to polish timepieces.
"You're too calm," I said quietly.