Chapter 4 The Watchmaker's Warning

The Watchmaker's Warning

The tunnel sloped downward like a scar carved into the underbelly of London. Damp stone walls pressed close on either side, and the flickering lantern Elias carried cast shadows that danced like ghosts just out of reach.

"How far does this go?" Elara asked, brushing spider webs from her shoulder.

"Far enough to make you question every stair," Elias muttered. "The Watchmaker doesn't do doorbells."

"Why do I feel like I'm walking into a conspiracy theory subreddit?"

"Because you are. Just underground. And real."

Elara huffed out a breath. The tunnel opened into a cavern that looked more like a mad inventor's lair than anything else. Bronze gears spun lazily in the ceiling. Blue sparks leapt between coils. A tall clock without hands stood ticking anyway.

In the middle of it all sat a figure hunched over a long table, bent fingers adjusting the tiny springs of a watch no bigger than a thimble.

"Elara Quinn," the figure rasped without turning around. "You're late."

Elara froze. "Do I... know you?"

The Watchmaker turned.

She was ancient. Ageless. Her face lined like a parchment map. Eyes sharp and strange-one gold, one a swirling storm-gray.

"You *will*," she said.

Elias bowed his head. "Mistress Chronelle."

"Still clinging to the name Elias?" she asked, voice dry as cracked glass. "Didn't burn it with the rest of your past?"

"Not all of it," he muttered.

Chronelle stood, moving slowly but with purpose. She crossed to Elara and held out a hand.

The moment Elara placed the timepiece into it, the room changed.

Gears froze. Clocks stopped.

Chronelle's eyes closed. "Ah. So the loop begins again."

"Loop?" Elara asked. "No. No loops. Just answers."

"Answers are rarely free," Chronelle said. "But since you asked..."

She pressed the timepiece into a bronze bowl filled with dark water. The ripples shimmered-and *scenes* began to play across the surface.

A woman running through a burning library.

A man screaming as time reversed around him.

A child reaching for a glowing watch-her eyes *Elara's* eyes.

Elara staggered back. "What is this?"

"Memory," Chronelle said. "Not yours. Not yet. But they live in your line."

She turned to Elias. "She's not ready."

"She doesn't have time to be," Elias replied.

"That's the irony," Chronelle said with a dry smile. "Time's the one thing she'll always run out of."

Elara's voice was tight. "Tell me about the fracture."

Chronelle moved to a tall cabinet, unlocked it with a gear-shaped key, and pulled out a thick scroll sealed in wax.

"The fracture is where history was cut," she said. "Where something-or someone-rewrote a moment too deeply, and it split reality. Now time is bleeding through."

She handed the scroll to Elara. Inside were four names:

* **Eliza Quinn**

* **Elias Blackwood**

* **Arabella Vale**

* **Elara Quinn**

"Wait-*me?*" Elara said, heart thudding.

Chronelle nodded. "You're not just part of this. You're the pivot point."

"No. I didn't choose this!"

Chronelle raised a brow. "You think destiny cares?"

The room trembled. This time, it wasn't footsteps or tunnels-it was *time itself*. The clocks ticked backward. The walls flickered with blurred images of other times-Victorian markets, futuristic skylines, crumbling ruins.

Elias stepped between Elara and the visions. "She's breaching."

"Arabella?" Elara asked.

"She's trying to rewrite again," Chronelle snapped. "We must *go*."

"Where?" Elara demanded.

"To the moment it all began," Elias said, grabbing her hand. "To the original wound."

Chronelle tossed him a golden coin engraved with a symbol that pulsed faintly in Elara's watch: an *inverted hourglass*.

"This will guide you," she said. "But beware-the moment you step into the fracture, you'll see more than truth. You'll see *possibility*."

"And possibility," she added, her eyes locking onto Elara's, "is the most dangerous thing of all."

They emerged from a side tunnel into the night.

London's sky had changed. The stars shimmered in different constellations. Carriages moved without horses. Gaslamps flickered beside neon lights that hadn't been invented yet.

Elias checked his compass. "We're close."

Elara stared at the coin. "How does this work?"

"It's keyed to your blood," Elias said. "And your will."

"Great," she muttered. "No pressure."

She touched the coin to the watch.

Time *fractured*.

Not shattered. Not rewound.

Fractured-like glass struck by a hammer.

The world *split*.

She stood suddenly on a battlefield. Elias beside her. Fire in the sky. A woman in silver armor-*Arabella*-walking toward them with a blade that shimmered like a sundial sharpened to kill.

"Hello, Elara," she said, smiling.

"I've been waiting."