The Midnight Shop
The smell of cedar and ancient oil always clung to Elias's skin. His workshop, The Glass Hour, was a sanctuary of rhythmic ticking. He liked clocks because they were honest; if they broke, they could be fixed.
One rainy Tuesday, just as he was turning the "Closed" sign, the bell chimed.
In walked a woman drenched in silver rainwater, holding a small, velvet-wrapped object as if it were a wounded bird. She was Sloane.
"I was told you're the only one who can make things stand still," she said, her voice breathless.
Elias looked at her—really looked at her—and for the first time in ten years, he forgot to check the time.