Chapter 5 The Secret That Ticks

In sharp contrast to the lavish chaos that characterised the rest of the Romano estate, the quiet in Violet's designated quarters was a heavy, clinging thing.

The furnishings were simple and practical, providing little comfort or diversion, and the air was thin, almost brittle.

On one wall was a narrow bed covered with a rough blanket of grey wool.

On the other side was a plain wooden table with a basin of water that had long since become tepid and a broken ceramic pitcher.

The courtyard below, where shadows danced with the constant threat of unseen eyes, was visible through a single, plain window, its glass thick and slightly distorted.

Violet moved with a quiet urgency, the door left unguarded, the bolt slender against the weight of the secrets contained within these walls.

She reached inside the folds of her old dress with thin, surprisingly strong fingers and took out the forbidden treasure.

Her dad's watch.

It was a tarnished silver watch worn smooth by years of his touch, a reminder of a life that now seemed a far-off, almost dreamlike memory.

In this sea of fear and uncertainty, its familiar weight in her palm served as a reassuring anchor.

She could almost feel the ghostly warmth of his hand as she held it close, the subtle aroma of his favourite tobacco clinging to the rusty metal.

Tonight, however, there was an unsettling oddity mixed with the comforting familiarity.

An erratic ticking.

It was a broken beat, a tentative stutter that seemed to mimic the frantic rhythm of her own heart, rather than the steady, rhythmic pulse she had always known.

Then she felt a slight, nearly undetectable scratching against the smooth shell beneath her fingertips.

As though something tiny and restless were imprisoned inside, there was a faint vibration, a whisper against the quiet. Her throat tightened with breath.

Sitting on his knee, she brought the watch closer to her eyes, her eyes following the elaborate engravings on the back, the whirling designs that she had often drawn absently as a child.

Now, under the pressure of her scrutiny, those well-known lines appeared to change, to come together into something fresh.

With the help of an instinct she couldn't quite identify, her fingers traced every nook and cranny and intricate detail that had always been a part of this treasured item.

Then she discovered it. There was a tiny crack, a seam that was almost invisible and ran along the side of the casing. It was so thin that it could have been mistaken for a simple scratch in the old silver.

Her heartbeat accelerated. She couldn't recall this aspect of the watch.

In this bleak present, this was a whisper from the past, a secret that was concealed in plain sight.

Violet's nails, bitten short and rough, worked at the nearly invisible seam with a rush of adrenaline and a desperate hope flickering in the darkness of her despair.

Every minute movement of her fingers seemed to be magnified in the oppressive silence of the room, and time seemed to slow to a crawl.

The metal was unyielding and resistant, as though it were stubbornly defending its secret.

However, Violet persevered, her resolve unwavering, her will driven by the intense desire to connect with the father she had lost, the life that had been taken from her.

After what seemed like an eternity of laborious work, a faint click finally reverberated in the silence.

A tiny sliver of darkness appeared as the seam gave way.

Violet's heart hammered like a trapped bird against her ribs as she widened the opening with trembling hands.

Then it dropped into her hand.

A small, folded piece of paper that was no larger than her thumbnail and had aged softly on the edges-a silent testament to a long-kept secret.

It was a physical reminder of a past she sorely needed to comprehend, and it weighed a tonne in her hand.

What was the message?

What secrets did it protect?

In her mind, the possibilities swirled, both exciting and terrifying.

It might be this.

Her first genuine hint.

A lifeline tossed over the edge of her hopelessness.

A glimmer of hope amid the oppressive shadows.

However, a sudden, terrifying realisation came to her as she unfolded the delicate paper, her fingers clumsy with anticipation. She wasn't by herself.

The air in the room suddenly became heavy, charged with an invisible presence, and a prickling sensation danced on the back of her neck.

The watch's faint, erratic ticking seemed to intensify in the quiet, becoming a desperate drumbeat against the background of an encroaching shadow rather than a whispered