With every sunrise, the fog thickens—
sealing Eldridge Hollow in a hush,
as if the town itself dares not let its secrets escape.
The silver watch in my pocket ticks like a second heartbeat,
its erratic rhythm a constant reminder of the clock's power—
and its trust in me.
Since that moment in the chamber, the clock's presence has lingered inside me,
like a heartbeat not my own—constant, deep, and impossibly ancient.
In Nate's words,
"It chose you, Jane"
echoes linger in my mind, laced with the memory of his touch—steady, grounding.
It sparks something unnamed,
something I'm afraid to understand.
But Lord Cedric's pale shadow stretches long,
his chill slipping into my thoughts like smoke.
I am suspended between peril and passion,
and the music won't stop.
Over the past seven days, I've found myself drawn to Nate— and to Burner's Timeworks.
And if both are pieces of the puzzle I was always meant to touch,
perhaps this was never coincidence.
He tells me of days spent in his father's workshop—
fingers stained with oil,
hearts light with the thrill of building—
before the curse turned joy into burden.His voice falters when he speaks of his mother—lost to illness—and for a moment, I see the boy he was, carrying grief too heavy for one heart.
I admit my own hunger for something more—
how the quiet life behind the bookshop counter once felt like enough.
Until now.
"I thought I wanted adventure," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
"But I never pictured ancient clocks… danger… and you."
His mouth finds mine—slowly, unexpectedly—
and it hits me like a warm tide: quiet, disarming, and utterly real.
The touch lingers like a whispered secret,
and I find myself hoping he's caught in this quiet gravity just as I am.
But danger draws near.
One morning, Maggie Robinson—my closest friend—pulls me aside in her shop, concern shadowing her freckled face beneath her tumbling auburn curls.
"Jane, I saw men near the Burner's Timeworks last night," she says, her needle pausing mid-stitch.
"Mean-looking men. Not from town. They're watching the shop… and I swear one of them had Vale's crest on his coat."
My stomach twists,
as if the very air around me has turned sharp and sore.
"Vale's men," I whisper,
the words bitter on my tongue.
His interest in the watch coils around me like smoke—
suffocating, inescapable.With a nod of gratitude to Maggie,I turn ,the fog swallowing me as I rush to find Nate.
The bell rings as I enter, and the rhythmic ticks greet me like the heartbeat of a place that knows me.
I find Nate at his usual post. The journal lies open in front of him, its worn pages brimming with years of careful handwriting. He looks up, concern flickering in his green eyes.
"Jane, you're pale. What's happened?"
"Maggie saw them," I say, my voice urgent. "Men. Watching the shop. Lurking. We need a plan."
His jaw tightens. He nods and gestures to the journal.
"This was my father's. It details a ritual—one that can strengthen the clock's protection. But it's not easy."
He turns the page slowly, his finger tracing a symbol.
"It requires two: a Guardian and a Key holder. That's you, Jane—because of the watch."
I clutch the watch.
It ticks louder than my breath.
"What do I do?"
"Trust me," Nate says, his voice wrapped in calm—not just a command, but an invitation.
"We have to bind the watch to the clock. But it's dangerous. The ritual taps into its power, and if those men find out… it's over."
I nod, squaring my shoulders.
The fear is still there—
But it no longer controls me.By candlelight, we pore over the journal.
Its ancient diagrams whisper secrets and dangers with every turn of the page.
Nate speaks low, guiding me through the ritual—
chants older than memory, runes carved into time itself, and the blood that must bind us to it.
Our hands meet over the parchment,
his thoughts light but grounding, anchoring me in the moment.
I freeze, my pulse fluttering.
"You are not bound to this," he says softly.
"You can walk away. I wouldn't blame you."
"I can't," I say, my voice steady.
"Not from this. Not from you."
His gaze softens, and for a heartbeat—
time stills.
Then the watch flares, casting a silvery glow through the fabric of my skirt.
One by one, the clocks chime—
not harshly,
but like whispers treading through time.
A shimmery tension thickens the air.
Nate goes still, something flickering in his eyes.
"Something's wrong," he murmurs—almost reverent.
I follow his gaze to the window.
A forked shadow presses hard against the glass,
swallowing the world beyond.
Then—
the crunch of footsteps.
Slow.
Steady.
Too close.
My breath catches.
"They're here," I whisper.
Without a word, Nate crosses to the door,
his eyes scanning the thick veil outside.
"Vale's men," he says calmly.
"They're waiting. But they won't catch us off guard."
The watch presses against my thigh,
its ticking frantic now.
I clutch it, feeling the pulse of its power.
"What do we do?" I ask.
"We start the ritual tonight," Nate replies, turning to me—
his face set with unshakable determination.
"We can't wait any longer. If Vale gets to the clock… everything we know could unravel."
I nod, torn between fear and fire.
The clocks echo around us like beating hearts.
The air is too thick to breathe.
But when Nate takes my hand,
the world stills—if only for a moment.
Whatever awaits—
Veil's shadow,
the clock's secrets,
the threads that tie us—
I can't step away now.
The fog murmurs warnings.
But Nate stands beside me, steady and warm—
a beacon I can't help but follow.