Chapter 3
A black SUV idled outside the Veyra Clock Workshop.
Two county workers were pasting a notice onto Elara's door.
Seren Voss stood on the sidewalk. Rhys stood beside her, holding a crying Maren.
Elara slammed the truck door open.
"Get away from my shop!" she shouted.
Rhys instantly put on a worried face for the neighbors watching from their windows.
"Elara, thank God. You're having an episode. Please, let us help you."
"I am perfectly sane, Rhys," Elara said, marching straight toward them.
Seren blocked the entrance. "It’s over, Elara."
Elara pushed past Rhys and looked directly at the notice on the door.
Something was wrong.
The state landmark seal was missing.
The signature at the bottom was a rubber stamp.
Even the building code number didn't match.
"This isn't real," Elara said, turning to face the inspector.
The inspector blinked, shifting his feet. "That is an official document, Miss Veyra."
"No, it isn't," Elara declared, ripping the paper off her own door.
"This is a registered historical building. The county doesn't have the authority to condemn it without state approval. You rushed this out this morning because you thought I wouldn't be here to read it."
The inspector’s face turned bright red. He looked at Seren, terrified.
Rhys sneered, stepping forward to grab Elara’s arm.
"Shut up, Elara. Nobody cares about your excuses."
A heavy shadow fell over them.
Darien Mercer walked out of the fog.
He stood right beside Elara, his massive frame completely eclipsing Rhys.
Darien didn't look at the Vosses. He looked at the inspector.
"She's right," Darien said, staring down at the crumpled paper in Elara's hand.
"I've seen enough permits to know a fake when I see one. If you don't leave, I'm calling the state police."
The inspector turned pale as a sheet. He ran down the street.
Seren’s elegant facade finally cracked.
Her eyes flashed with bitter venom.
"You think you're clever, Elara? This changes nothing. By tomorrow, this shop will be dust."
Rhys stepped closer to Elara, his voice a malicious whisper.
"See you at Town Hall, Elara. Enjoy your final few hours."
The SUV roared away into the fog.
Elara stood on the sidewalk, holding her mother's sapphire ring tight in her palm.
The shop was safe for now, but she knew the real war would begin at seven o'clock.
She turned to look at her mother's shop window.
Deep in the back of the store sat an ancient, massive clock—the only piece her mother had never been able to fix.
It sat there, silent, and mysterious, waiting for an answer Elara didn't yet have.
Behind her, Darien turned toward the door.
"You're leaving?"
He paused.
"Yeah. I thought you didn't need saving."
Then something clicked in Elara's mind.
"You repair antique mechanisms, don't you?"
Darien frowned.
"Sometimes."
"Then I have a job for you and I can pay you."
"Doing what?"
Elara's eyes never left the clock.
"Because I think that clock is about to ruin someone's entire plan."