Chapter 1 The Shop Appears

Chapter One: The Shop Appears

Elena had walked the same route home from school for years. Wren Street curved like a question mark through the heart of her neighborhood, quiet and gray, lined with squat brick buildings that all seemed to share the same tired breath. There was comfort in its sameness: the crumbling bookstore with the cat in the window, the post office that always closed too early, and the scent of fried dough from the bakery on Alder Street that never failed to make her stomach growl.

She had never noticed the shop before.

It sat hunched on the corner of Wren and Alder, half-swallowed by ivy, the brick around it a shade darker than its neighbors. Its windows were dusty, their panes slightly warped, as though they looked out on a different kind of time. Above the door, a weather-worn sign read:

"T. Merrin – Horologist"

The words curled like smoke, carved delicately into old wood.

But Elena hadn't seen any of this until the day it rained.

It came suddenly-gray clouds rolling in, fast and low, thunder rumbling like distant drums. She hadn't brought an umbrella. When the downpour began, she ducked beneath the first awning she saw, hugging her coat to her chest.

The awning was faded blue, frayed at the corners.

She blinked, confused. She should've known every awning on this street. But this one-this shop-felt new and ancient all at once.

Her eyes were drawn to the window display. Not books or antiques, not pastries or trinkets. Clocks. Dozens of them. Tall ones, squat ones, clocks with gilded faces and clocks that barely ticked. There was even a watch on a velvet pillow, its surface fogged by time, the hands not moving.

She felt something stir in her chest. A memory-or the echo of one.

She pushed open the door.

A small bell chimed. Not the tinny kind most shops had, but a low, warm note like the chime of a cathedral clock at midnight.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of cedar, oil, and something metallic, like old coins. The sound of ticking enveloped her-a symphony of time layered over itself. Grandfather clocks loomed in the corners, their pendulums swaying like slow, steady heartbeats. Cuckoo clocks peeked out with curious wooden eyes. Pocket watches hung in neat rows behind glass, each one gently pulsing like stars in a dark sky.

She stepped forward, not sure what she was looking for.

"You're a bit early," said a voice.

Elena froze. She hadn't seen him.

An old man stood at the back of the shop, hunched slightly, his long fingers adjusting the gears of an open clock. His white shirt was rolled at the sleeves, revealing wrists marked with faint burnish stains of brass and time. He didn't turn around.

"I-sorry?" she said, her voice too loud in the quiet.

Now he turned. His face was deeply lined, but his eyes were a startling blue-clear and sharp, as if the years hadn't dared touch them.

"You weren't supposed to find me yet," he said, peering at her with faint amusement. "But I suppose the rain has its own ideas."

Elena hovered by the door. "I didn't mean to intrude. I was just trying to get out of the rain."

The old man chuckled. "All the best journeys begin with accidents."

He gestured to a worn stool near the counter. "Come in. You're here for a reason."

Elena hesitated, unsure why she didn't simply leave. There was nothing particularly warm about the shop. It was shadowed, old. The ticking was relentless. And yet...

The shop felt like a memory waiting to happen.

She stepped forward.