Rip — In Time

Elias was a restorer of "broken things," but this clock was a new kind of broken. He’d found it in the basement of a demolished Victorian estate, caked in dust and smelling of ozone. When he finally wound the brass key, the air in his workshop didn’t just move—it tore.

Elias spun around. Standing by the door was a man who looked like a walking shadow. His clothes were modern, but his eyes were ancient. Rip in Time

He looked at the key. He looked at his future self, who was slowly dissolving into mist. Elias was a restorer of "broken things," but

With a roar of effort, Elias grabbed the pendulum. The brass was searing hot, smelling of burnt lightning. He forced it to a standstill. Elias spun around

He took the key, walked to the window, and tossed it into the tall grass of the meadow. Some things were meant to stay broken.

"If you don't stop it," the older Elias replied, "there won't be an 'anywhere' left to stay."

The grandfather clock in Elias’s hallway didn’t just chime; it shuddered.