Elias was a restorer of rare clocks—a man of silent rooms and microscopic precision. His life was a collection of steady heartbeats and rhythmic ticking until he found the Solstice Chronometer in a damp cellar in Prague. It was a jagged piece of brass and obsidian, said to be crafted by a monk who had tried to map the exact frequency of the human soul.
Should we delve deeper into to keep the door shut, or the devil in me
"You’re working too hard," the reflection whispered. The voice didn't come from the air; it vibrated inside Elias’s own teeth. Elias was a restorer of rare clocks—a man
Elias felt his vision split. He saw his own hand reach out—not to hand over the clock, but to grip Sterling’s wrist. He felt the strength of ten men coiled in his muscles. His reflection in the glass of the clock wasn't his own face; it was a void with burning, amber eyes. Should we delve deeper into to keep the