Chapter 3

At seven the next morning, I checked the tweezers, oil bottle, and magnifying loupe in my tool case. Lucas was already dressed. He had set my keys on the table.

For a moment, I almost believed he had heard me the night before.

Blaire sat in the doorway of the guest room, looking much better than she had at the hospital. She gave me a small smile.

“Good luck today. Lucas says you used to be amazing at restoring watches.”

I thought of the practiced way she had written Lucas’s name on that hospital form, as though she had always known I would stand nearby and make room for their closeness.

Lucas’s phone rang.

He read the message, and his expression changed.

Blaire’s childhood home was being handed over to the new owners that day. The cleanup crew had arrived early.

She had found a letter from her mother in a storage locker and was afraid to go inside alone.

“I’ll drop you at the Society, then go over there,” Lucas said quickly. “Forty minutes, max.”

“Check-in closes at eight-thirty. I need time to get familiar with the movement.”

“I know. I won’t make you late.”

Blaire didn’t ask him to go. She only looked down at her phone and said, “Lucas, if you’re busy, I can go by myself.”

Lucas looked at her. His hesitation lasted only a few seconds.

“I’ll go with her first. You can drive yourself, okay? I’ll pick you up after the assessment.”

I didn’t argue.

Every time I pushed harder in the past, Lucas accused me of forcing him to choose sides.

That morning, I finally understood that he had already chosen. He just refused to admit it.

The clock at the Society struck eight-thirty as I checked in at the last possible minute.

I had no time to let my hands adjust to the unfamiliar room. The assigned movement was older than my practice pieces.

When the second fine gear caught, I used too much pressure, and the spring slipped from the clamp.

The evaluator asked me to stop.

“Nadine, this attempt will stay on record,” she said. “The next assessment is in six months.”

I packed up my tools and walked out.

Lucas wasn’t there.

There was only one message, sent forty minutes earlier.

Blaire found the letter. She’s not doing well. I’ll explain later.

That evening, I came home to find the living room covered in old photo albums and cardboard boxes.

Lucas sat on the floor, helping Blaire sort through pictures.

She saw me and got to her feet.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas said. “I know today mattered to you.”

I set down my tool case, opened the drawer, and took out an old business card I had never been able to throw away.

It carried the name and number of my former mentor’s restoration workshop.

“You don’t need to explain,” I said. “I need to find somewhere I can take my own time back.”