The hourglass pact

eath his oil-streaked coat as he twisted the iron key into the lock of Vane's Time Repairs, his ti

ways midnight in t

and money. Down here, though, time stuttered. Shadows stretched wrong, clocks spun backwa

him like a worn coat. He flicked the gas lamp near his workbench, casting amber light over rows of disass

he he

ond hea

he floorboards - slow,

fro

sealed since his fathe

beat thud

ied up the floorboards, dust billowed in choking clouds. Beneath them, a trapdoor he

ldn't o

pene

below: a pedestal made of woven iron threads, holding a fractured hour

ss his vision, not in ink

y

e hourglass