Title: The Man Who Borrowed Hours
Mason Reid was never late. He wore punctuality like a second skin, crisp and unwrinkled, as much a part of him as his name or the hum of static in his left ear. He wasn't obsessed with time—he respected it, the way a gardener respects soil. You plant something, you tend it, and eventually, time gives you back the fruit.
But what time gave Mason was a secret.
It started on a Wednesday, because of course it did. Mid-week was where strange things hid—far enough from Monday's scrutiny and Friday's relief to go unnoticed.
He was walking home through the park, briefcase in one hand, a cup of lukewarm coffee in the other. The air was thick with spring pollen, the kind that settles behind your eyes and makes the world blur at the edges. He paused beneath a crooked elm tree to check his watch—6:42 p.m. Exactly on schedule.
That was when the man appeared.
