The night outside was deep and endless, stretching far beyond the bookstore’s windows. The streetlamps flickered erratically, their glow swallowed by the thickening fog that curled between the cobbled streets like creeping fingers. It was as if the town itself was exhaling, releasing something unseen into the air.

Elias sat in the back of the shop, staring at the handless pocket watch in front of him. The small metallic object felt heavier than it should, as though it carried more than just its weight—it carried answers. Answers Elias wasn’t sure he was ready for.

Mr. Alder was silent, watching him with cautious eyes. His fingers traced the edge of an old wooden box, its lid slightly ajar. Inside lay fragments of broken clock hands, their edges sharp and jagged.

Elias finally spoke. “What did you mean… about knowing which future is real?”

Mr. Alder sighed, rubbing his temples. “You see things before they happen. But time is not a straight line, Elias. It’s not a road you simply walk down. It’s more like an—” He hesitated. “An ocean.”

Elias frowned. “An ocean?”

Mr. Alder nodded. “Ever-changing. Fluid. Unstable. Most people see only what’s in front of them, a single wave at a time. But you… you’ve stepped beneath the surface.”

Elias’s throat tightened. “And what’s under the surface?”

Mr. Alder’s gaze darkened.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

“Things that were never meant to be seen.”

A sharp gust of wind howled outside. The walls trembled. The ticking sound that had haunted Elias for days returned, growing louder, more discordant—like a hundred clocks ticking out of sync, their rhythm broken.

Elias clutched the handless watch. “You’re telling me the future isn’t set?”

Mr. Alder leaned forward. “No, Elias. I’m telling you that you’re seeing all of them. Every path. Every possibility. And if you don’t control it—” He exhaled, his voice grim. “—it will break you.”

The weight of those words settled in Elias’s chest, heavy and suffocating.

And then—the watch moved.

For the first time since Elias had picked it up, the smooth, blank face shifted. A single crack splintered across the glass. A whisper of gears turning—not inside the watch, but somewhere else. Somewhere near.

Elias’s skin prickled.

Then came the knock.

Three slow, deliberate raps against the bookstore door.

Mr. Alder stiffened. His face turned pale.

Elias swallowed. “It’s him again, isn’t it?”

Mr. Alder didn’t answer. Instead, he extinguished the lamp, plunging the room into near darkness. Only the faint glow of the streetlamp outside remained, casting eerie shadows across the wooden floor.

The knock came again. Louder.

Elias’s pulse raced.

A voice followed—low, smooth, and familiar.

“Elias. I know you’re there.”

The man from before.

The one who spoke in riddles.

The one who had vanished without a sound.

Elias could barely breathe.

Mr. Alder motioned for him to stay silent. Slowly, he reached under the counter and pulled out something wrapped in cloth. He unfolded it carefully, revealing a small, round device—an old, cracked compass.

Elias frowned. “A compass?”

Mr. Alder’s jaw clenched. “Not just any compass.”

Before Elias could ask what he meant, the voice outside spoke again.

“Do you know what’s happening, Elias?”

Elias’s grip tightened on the pocket watch.

“Time is shattering.”

And then—the door burst open.