The clock had become Sam's most closely guarded secret. Each morning, as he left the sanctuary, he'd slip it into his jacket pocket, its weight a constant reminder of the life he was attempting to balance. He was determined to keep a foothold in his ordinary world, even as he began to feel the quiet pull of the sanctuary's mysteries.
For the first time in weeks, he found himself back at his old workplace. It felt like slipping into an ill-fitting costume. The familiar buzz of conversations, the clacking of keyboards, and the scent of cheap coffee brought him some comfort, but he sensed a strange distance between himself and everyone around him. As he walked through the open-plan office, coworkers greeted him, but their voices felt like echoes, and the friendly laughter was hollow. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was out of sync, as if his world was ticking to a different beat.
Lunch was worse. He sat across from Ryan, a close friend since his first day at the company, who was updating him on office gossip. But Sam could hardly follow the conversation. He found himself noticing things he never had before—glances from across the cafeteria, murmurs just a little too hushed, and the way the clock on the wall seemed to pulse in his peripheral vision, almost daring him to reach for his pocket watch.
"Sam? Are you even listening?" Ryan asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah, sorry," Sam replied, forcing a smile. "Guess I'm just... tired."
Ryan gave him a sympathetic nod but didn't press further. Sam had always been quiet, but this kind of withdrawal was new. As Ryan continued his stories, Sam felt his hand drift unconsciously to the clock in his pocket. He was tempted to wind it back, just a few seconds, to see what Ryan might say again.
Just a few seconds wouldn't hurt, would it?
But before he could act, a wave of nausea stopped him. He felt his stomach twist, a reminder of the toll this gift—or curse—was taking on him. His fingers slipped from the clock. The sense of detachment from others was becoming undeniable. He wondered, as Ryan rambled on, if they could somehow sense his difference, the slight shift he'd created in himself by meddling with time.
---
Later that evening, Sam found himself at his usual café, trying to unwind with a book. He was watching the clock on the wall again when a young woman sat down beside him. She had a slight smirk, as if she knew something he didn't. She introduced herself casually, her voice filled with a quiet confidence.
"Nice to meet you, Sam," she said, holding out her hand. "My name is Mara. I've heard a lot about you."
He felt his pulse quicken. "Heard about me? From who?"
"Let's just say I know people who have their eyes on those with... potential," she replied, her eyes flickering toward his jacket pocket. "And you're turning heads, even if you haven't realized it yet."
Sam's mind raced. She knew about the clock, or at least sensed it. His heart beat faster, but he forced himself to stay calm.
Mara leaned in, her voice barely a whisper. "Your life can't be what it was before, you know. You'll find that out soon enough."
Sam swallowed, trying to hold his ground. "I'm just trying to live my life."
She raised an eyebrow. "Are you? Or are you hoping the clock will do it for you?"
Her words stung. He didn't reply, but she gave him a knowing smile before slipping a small, white card into his hand.
"Call me if you're ever ready to learn what's truly possible." With that, she left him sitting alone, staring at the blank card in his hand.
---
The days passed in a blur, each one blending into the next. Sam struggled to focus at work, and his friends' concerned looks grew more frequent. The clock seemed to take a toll on him even when he wasn't using it. He found himself losing hours, feeling drained and disoriented, as though time itself were slipping through his fingers. Worse, he began noticing strange changes in the world around him—small but jarring differences he couldn't explain.
One evening, he arrived home to find his apartment subtly altered. His favorite chair was a shade darker. The familiar photograph of his parents on the shelf seemed faded, and the clock on the wall was missing a second hand. He felt a chill, realizing these shifts were almost certainly his own doing, even if he couldn't remember making them.
Sitting alone in the dim light of his apartment, Sam reflected on what Mara had said. The clock had given him a way to control his life, but at what cost? The sanctuary felt like a distant memory now, a place where he'd felt connected to something larger, something timeless. Yet here, in the everyday world, he felt like a stranger in his own life.
---
Just as he was drifting off to sleep that night, his phone buzzed with a message. It was from an unknown number.
"We know who you are, Sam. It's time you know who we are."
The message was signed with a symbol he didn't recognize—a simple yet powerful emblem that felt oddly familiar. His heart raced, and he found himself drawn to it, compelled by the mystery and the danger it promised.
As he stared at the symbol, he felt a strange resolve settle within him. He could no longer ignore the path that was unfolding before him. The clock wasn't just a tool; it was a doorway into a world he had only begun to glimpse—a world filled with shadows, secrets, and people like Mara, people with power beyond his understanding.
Sam knew he was being pulled deeper into something he couldn't escape. And though fear lingered at the edges of his mind, he also felt a thrill, an urge to uncover the truth about himself, his power, and those who had begun watching him.
He placed his hand on the clock in his pocket, feeling its weight, knowing that whatever lay ahead, he couldn't turn back now.