On their way out, Amelia's gaze was drawn to a cracked mirror near the exit. She stopped, her reflection catching her attention.
"Amelia?" Thomas asked, noticing her hesitation.
She didn't respond. Her reflection wasn't her modern self—it was her, but dressed in the elaborate gown of the 18th century, her hair styled in intricate curls.
"Amelia, what is it?" Thomas's voice grew urgent.
"It's… me," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "But not me."
Thomas followed her gaze and stiffened. "What do you mean?"
Amelia's heart raced as the reflection moved, independent of her own actions. The 18th-century version of herself leaned closer, her expression somber.
"You can't save everyone," the reflection whispered, her voice faint but clear.
Amelia stumbled back, her breath coming in short gasps.
"Amelia!" Thomas caught her, his grip steady.
When she looked again, the reflection was normal—just her, pale and shaken.
---
As they left Dr. Syed's office, Amelia couldn't shake the words from her mind.
"You can't save everyone."
She glanced at Thomas, who looked as troubled as she felt.
"Whatever's happening," he said quietly, "we're running out of time."
Amelia nodded, the weight of their task heavier than ever.
.
.
.
"Secrets always demand a price, but not everyone is prepared to pay."
---
The tension in the air was palpable as Amelia and Thomas entered Amalina's apartment again. This time, the glow of her paintings seemed dimmer, almost as if the apartment itself sensed their purpose.
Amalina greeted them with her usual warmth, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—nervousness? Guilt? Thomas noticed it immediately.
"Back so soon?" Amalina asked, her voice light.
"Your paintings," Amelia said without preamble. "We need answers."
Amalina blinked, startled. "What do you mean?"
"I mean the sigils, the energy… the things you keep pretending you don't notice. You know something, don't you?"
Thomas crossed his arms, his voice colder. "Start talking."
---
Amalina sighed and gestured for them to sit. "Fine. But you're not going to like what I have to say."
"We're already past liking things," Thomas said sharply.
Amalina hesitated, looking at her hands. "The truth is… I don't fully understand it myself. But for as long as I can remember, I've had these dreams. Vivid, recurring dreams of places I've never been. Events I don't remember living through."
"What kind of events?" Amelia pressed.
"Wars. Celebrations. Even mundane things, like walking through a market. They feel so real, like memories, but they can't be mine." Amalina's voice wavered. "And then, a few months ago, they started getting stronger."
"Why?" Thomas asked, his tone skeptical.
Amalina reached into a drawer and pulled out a small, tarnished pocket watch. "Because of this."
---
The moment the pocket watch was in view, Thomas stiffened. His expression turned to stone as he leaned forward.
"Where did you get that?" he demanded.
Amalina glanced at him warily. "A stranger gave it to me. He said it belonged to someone important and that I'd know what to do with it."
Thomas clenched his fists. "What did this stranger look like?"
Amalina frowned, trying to recall. "He was tall, with a long coat and a hat that cast a shadow over his face. I couldn't see him clearly, but his voice… it was cold. He just handed me the watch and walked away."
Amelia glanced at Thomas, whose expression was unreadable. "Does that sound familiar to you?"
"Too familiar," he muttered. "I've seen that man before—back in my time. He's not just a stranger. He's dangerous."
---
Amelia took the pocket watch from Amalina, her fingers brushing its intricate engravings. The moment she touched it, a surge of déjà vu overwhelmed her.
The world around her seemed to tilt, and for a brief moment, she wasn't in the apartment anymore. She was standing in a cobblestone street, rain pouring down as a clock tower chimed in the distance. In her hand was the same pocket watch, but it felt heavier, like it carried the weight of centuries.
"Amelia?" Thomas's voice cut through the vision, snapping her back to reality.
She gasped, clutching the watch tightly. "It's… it's calling to me. Like I've held it before."
Amalina watched her with wide eyes. "That's how I felt when he gave it to me."
Thomas ran a hand through his hair, pacing. "This watch isn't just some trinket. It's connected to the fractures, to the timeline itself. Whoever gave it to you knew exactly what they were doing."
---
Amalina looked between them, her expression desperate. "I didn't ask for any of this. I don't know why he gave it to me or what I'm supposed to do with it. All I know is that ever since I got it, the dreams have been getting worse—and the paintings…"
"They're fragments of time," Amelia said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Dr. Syed said they're pieces of the timeline bleeding through you."
"What does that mean for me?" Amalina asked, her voice trembling.
Thomas met her gaze, his expression grim. "It means you're more than just an anchor. You're a key to this entire mess."
---
The room fell silent, the weight of Thomas's words settling over them.
"What do we do now?" Amalina asked softly.
"We figure out the truth," Amelia said firmly, gripping the pocket watch. "No more secrets. No more lies."
As they prepared to leave, Amelia looked back at Amalina, who stood frozen in the middle of the room, her face pale.
For the first time, Amelia saw something new in her—a deep, unspoken fear.
And she couldn't shake the feeling that the pocket watch was only the beginning of a much darker truth.
.
.
.
The air shimmered like a fractured mirror as Amelia and Thomas stepped into the realm of the Keeper of Time. It wasn't a place of stone or sky but an endless expanse of shifting light and sound. Threads of gold and silver danced in the distance, forming fleeting shapes before unraveling into chaos.
"This is… unsettling," Amelia muttered, clutching her arms.
Thomas scanned their surroundings, his gaze sharp. "It's not meant to feel natural. This is where the threads of time are maintained. Stay alert."
Before they could move further, a soft, yet commanding voice echoed around them.
"You have come far, yet you know so little."
A figure materialized, formed of shimmering threads that pulsed with every color imaginable. The Keeper of Time stood before them, an embodiment of the timeline itself. Its face shifted constantly, never settling into one form.