now write chapter 5

CHATGPT SAID:

CHAPTER 5: THE MAN WHO SPOKE IN RIDDLES

The air in the bookstore felt thicker, heavier—like the very walls were holding their breath. The man stood motionless at the entrance, his gaze locked onto Elias as if he were reading something written beneath his skin.

Elias felt the weight of the pocket watch in his palm, the cool metal pressing into his fingers. Something inside him whispered to run, to get as far away from this man as possible. But his feet didn’t move. He was caught between fear and something deeper—curiosity.

Mr. Alder spoke first. His voice, usually calm, carried an edge. "I'm afraid we don't carry what you're looking for."

The man chuckled, stepping inside, his boots clicking softly against the wooden floor. The lights above flickered again, just for a second. Elias could have sworn he heard something—a faint ticking, but not from the clocks. From somewhere else.

"You misunderstand," the man said smoothly. "I’m not looking for a book."

He took another step closer.

"I’m looking for him."

Elias’s pulse thundered in his ears.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Mr. Alder didn’t move, but his expression tightened. "I think you should leave."

The man tilted his head, as if considering. Then, in a slow, deliberate motion, he reached into his coat pocket. Elias tensed, expecting a weapon—a gun, a knife, something tangible.

Instead, the man pulled out a pocket watch.

But unlike Elias’s, this one had no hands. The face was smooth, blank. A watch that could measure time, yet refused to.

Elias swallowed. "Who are you?"

The man’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "A traveler."

"Where did you come from?" Elias pressed.

The man twirled the watch between his fingers. "Now that," he said, "depends on where you think time begins."

A riddle.

Elias didn’t blink. "And where does it end?"

The man’s smile widened, but before he could answer, the shop lights flickered violently—a surge of energy passing through the room. The ticking sound returned, louder this time, a discordant rhythm that seemed to come from every direction at once.

The man sighed. "Ah. I suppose this conversation was always going to be… limited."

Then, without looking away, he whispered, "You should stop looking ahead, Elias."

Elias’s breath caught.

The man knew his name.

A gust of wind slammed against the windows, rattling the glass. And in the reflection of the glass, for the briefest moment, Elias saw something standing behind the man.

Not a shadow.

Not a person.

Something else.

A shape, shifting, writhing—like the fabric of time itself was unraveling.

And then—the man was gone.

Just… gone.

The door never opened. The floor never creaked. But the space where he had stood was now empty, the air colder than before.

The only thing that remained was his pocket watch, lying on the wooden floor.

Still handless. Still ticking.