One

I went home. Didn't know what else to do.

My apartment was the usual disaster. Dishes in the sink. Clothes on the floor. The kind of mess you promise yourself you'll clean up this weekend and never do. I dropped my jacket over the back of a chair and pulled out my clock.

00:57:33.

Still counting up. Still glowing that faint blood-red. Still perfectly synchronized with Sera's clock somewhere across the city.

I sat on my couch. Stared at it. Tried to make sense of what the hell was happening.

Blood Clocks count down to significant events. Everyone knows this. It's the fundamental rule. The entire industry is built on it. Guilds certify them. Temples bind them. People build their lives around knowing change is coming.

They don't count up.

They don't measure time elapsed. They measure time remaining. That's the whole point.

Except mine was doing exactly what it shouldn't.

00:59:47.

I pulled out my phone. Scrolled through contacts. Stopped at Yara's name.

Yara was a Reader. Not one of the scam artists who set up shop in tourist districts. She actually knew what she was doing. We'd been friends since I started working guild deliveries three years ago. She'd helped me interpret my countdowns more than once.

I hit call. She answered on the second ring.

"Matthias. You know what time it is?"

"Seven-thirty."

"I was being rhetorical. What do you want?"

"My clock's doing something weird."

"Weird how?"

"It's counting up instead of down."

Silence. Long enough that I checked to make sure the call hadn't dropped.

"Yara?"

"You're joking."

"I'm not."

"Clocks don't count up."

"I know."

"That's not how they work."

"I know."

"Are you sure it's not just displaying wrong? Maybe the mechanism is damaged. Numbers can appear reversed if the crystal array is misaligned."

I looked at my clock again. 01:03:12. The numbers were crisp. Clear. Definitely moving in the wrong direction.

"It's not damaged. It counted down normally all morning. Hit zero at six thirty-three. Then it just... started over. Going the other way."

"What happened at six thirty-three?"

"I met someone."

Another pause. I could practically hear her brain working.

"You met someone and your countdown jumped to a new event?"

"No. It hit zero. The countdown I'd been watching all day. It ended exactly when we were standing together in Memorial Square."

"Okay. So the clock predicted that meeting. That's normal. Maybe unusual timing, but countdowns to meeting significant people do happen. First day of work. First date with someone you'll marry. Clocks register those."

"Here's the thing. Her clock did the same thing."

"What do you mean same thing?"

"She had a countdown. Thirty-seven days. This morning it jumped to eleven hours. Same as mine. We both hit zero at exactly the same moment. And now we're both counting up."

The silence stretched longer this time.

"Yara?"

"I need to see this." Her voice had changed. Professional. Careful. "Where are you?"

"Home."

"Stay there. I'm coming over."

She hung up before I could argue.

Yara showed up forty minutes later with a leather bag full of equipment I didn't recognize. She let herself in without knocking. We'd known each other long enough that neither of us cared about formalities.

"Show me," she said.

I held out my clock. She took it carefully. Pulled out some kind of magnifying device. Studied the crystal face. The mechanism. The blood numerals still climbing steadily.

01:44:44.

"Fuck," she said quietly.

Coming from Yara, that meant something. She didn't swear casually.

"What?"

"It's real. The resonance patterns are active. The crystal array is functioning normally. This isn't mechanical failure."

"Then what is it?"

She set my clock down. Pulled out her own. Hers showed standard countdowns. Three days. Forty-seven days. Nothing unusual.

"I have a theory," she said. "But you're not going to like it."

"Tell me anyway."

"Countdowns measure time until significant events. Events that change your trajectory. Alter your path. The clock identifies these moments before they happen and counts down to them."

"I know how countdowns work."

"But what happens after? After the event occurs?"

I shrugged. "The countdown disappears. New ones appear eventually. Life moves on."

"Right. Normally the countdown just vanishes. The clock resets. But what if the event isn't over? What if the significant moment isn't a point in time but a duration?"

"I don't follow."

She leaned forward. "You met this woman. Your clocks said that meeting was significant. Life-changing. But maybe the meeting itself wasn't the event. Maybe the event is whatever happens because you met."

"That's every countdown then. Everything has consequences."

"No. Most countdowns are discrete moments. You take a job. You get married. Someone dies. The event happens and it's done. But some events are processes. Transformations that unfold over time. Maybe your clocks aren't broken. Maybe they're measuring something different."

01:47:33.

"Measuring what?"

"How long you've been inside the event. How long since the transformation started."

I stared at my clock. At the blood numerals glowing softly in the lamplight.

"That's insane."

"Yeah. It is." She picked up my clock again. Turned it over. Examined the guild mark on the back. "Who made this?"

"Livia Thorne."

She nodded. "Good work. High-end piece. If any clock was going to do something unprecedented, it'd be one of hers."

"Should I take it to her? Get it checked?"

"You could. She'd probably confiscate it for study. Maybe take you in for observation. You'd become a case study. Papers written about you. Lectures given. You'd be famous."

"I don't want to be famous."

"Then don't tell the guilds. Not yet. Let's see what happens when you meet this woman again. See if the counting continues. See if anything else changes."

She stood. Started packing her equipment.

"Yara."

"Yeah?"

"What if it's dangerous? What if my clock counting up means something bad?"

She stopped. Looked at me straight on.

"Matthias. Your clock told you meeting this woman was significant. Not good or bad. Just significant. The counting up suggests you're still in that significant moment. That whatever's happening between you two is still unfolding."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"No. It doesn't." She picked up her bag. "But here's what I know. Blood Clocks don't lie. They might be cryptic. They might not tell you what you want to know. But they don't lie. If your clock is measuring this? Whatever this is? It matters. Whether that's dangerous or not depends on what you do with it."

She let herself out.

I sat on my couch. Held my clock. Watched the numbers climb.

01:54:17.

Sera's shift wouldn't end for another seven hours.

I tried to sleep. Couldn't. Tried to eat. Stomach was too twisted. Tried to watch something on my phone. Couldn't focus.

I kept checking my clock. Every few minutes. Like the numbers might suddenly reverse. Go back to counting down. Return to normal.

They didn't.

03:45:38.

I gave up pretending I was going to do anything productive. Changed into clean clothes. Grabbed my jacket. Headed out into the night.

The city was different at night. Quieter. Darker. The kind of quiet that makes you notice sounds you normally miss. Footsteps. Distant traffic. The hum of streetlights.

I walked. No particular direction. Just walked.

Ended up at Memorial Square without planning to. The fountain was lit from below. Water cascading in endless cycles. A few people scattered on benches. Late-night wanderers like me.

This was where it happened. Where our countdowns hit zero. Where everything changed.

I pulled out my clock.

08:02:51.

Close now. Another hour until I was supposed to meet Sera at Gregor's. Less if she finished her shift early.

I sat on the edge of the fountain. Let my hand trail through the water. Cold. Real. Present.

Whatever was happening with our clocks, whatever Yara's theory meant, one thing was clear. I'd met Sera six hours ago. Talked to her for maybe forty minutes total. Didn't know her favorite color or where she grew up or what she wanted out of life.

But my clock said she mattered.

And I was starting to think my clock was right.

You're absolutely right. The cafe scene feels rushed. They've been apart for nine hours, both terrified, both experiencing something impossible, and they hang out for less than twenty minutes? That's not how people behave when they're scared and need answers.

Let me fix that:

Gregor's was exactly the kind of place that stays open all night because closing would require effort. Tired lighting. Cracked vinyl booths. Coffee that tasted like it had been sitting since yesterday morning.

Perfect.

I got there at three-fifteen. Ordered coffee I didn't want. Took a booth by the window where I could see the street.

My clock showed 08:45:23.

I set it on the table. Stared at it. Tried to imagine what I'd say when Sera showed up.

The door chimed at three-thirty-two. Sera walked in. Still in her hospital scrubs. Hair pulled back. She looked exhausted. Beautiful. Terrified.

She saw me. Slid into the booth across from me. Pulled out her clock. Set it next to mine.

Both showed the same number. 09:02:17.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi."

We sat there. Two strangers with synchronized clocks that were doing impossible things. Neither of us knew what to say.

"I asked three different people at the hospital," she said finally. "Doctors. Nurses. People who own clocks. Asked if they'd ever heard of countdowns reversing. Counting up instead of down."

"What'd they say?"

"They said I should get my clock examined. That it sounds like crystal degradation or mechanism failure. One doctor offered to recommend a good clockmaker."

"Did you tell them your countdown hit zero before it reversed?"

"No. I didn't want to explain that part."

"Why not?"

She looked at me. Really looked. Those dark tired eyes holding something I couldn't quite read.

"Because then I'd have to explain you."

The waitress came over. Took Sera's order. Left.

09:08:03.

"I talked to a Reader," I said. "Friend of mine. She thinks the counting up means we're inside the event. That the significant moment our clocks predicted isn't over. It's still happening."

"That doesn't make sense."

"I know."

"Events happen and then they're done. You don't stay inside a moment. Time moves forward."

"I know."

"So either our clocks are broken or we're experiencing something that's never happened before."

I picked up my clock. Felt its familiar weight. The warmth against my palm.

"There's a third option," I said.

"What's that?"

"Our clocks aren't broken. This has happened before. And everyone who experienced it was too scared to talk about it."

She laughed. Sharp. Almost bitter.

"That's worse. That's so much worse."

"Yeah. It is."

Her coffee arrived. She wrapped both hands around the mug. Actually took a sip this time. Still made a face.

"This is terrible coffee."

"Best terrible coffee in the city."

That got a small smile. First real one I'd seen from her.

09:11:47.

"Matthias. I need to tell you something."

"Okay."

"I'm not good at this. Relationships. People. Any of it. I work hospital night shifts specifically so I don't have to deal with too many humans at once. I go home. Sleep. Go back to work. That's my life."

"Sounds lonely."

"It is. But it's manageable. Predictable." She looked down at her clock. "And now I have this thing telling me that meeting you is somehow the most significant thing that's happened to me in months. Maybe years. And I don't know what to do with that."

"You want to know what I think?"

"Sure."

"I think our clocks knew we needed each other. For something. And they counted down to the moment we'd be in the same place at the same time. And now they're counting up because they're measuring whatever comes next."

"That's romantic bullshit."

"Probably. But look at your clock. Then tell me it's not real."

She looked. We both did. The blood numerals glowing softly in the harsh fluorescent light.

"Tell me about your countdown," she said. "The one that brought us here. When did you first see it?"

"Yesterday morning. Five AM. Started at thirteen and a half hours. I spent the whole day freaking out about it."

"Mine was different. I've had this countdown for six months."

I stared at her. "Six months?"

"Thirty-seven days when it first appeared. I checked it every morning. Watched it tick down. Tried to figure out what it meant. And then yesterday morning I looked and it had jumped. Eleven hours. Same as yours."

"That's not how countdowns work."

"I know. They don't jump. They don't suddenly accelerate. But mine did."

09:18:22.

"What changed?" I asked. "What happened yesterday that made it jump?"

She was quiet for a long moment. Staring at her coffee.

"I made a decision. Stupid one. I told my supervisor I was quitting. Giving notice."

"Why?"

"Because I've been doing the same thing for three years. Same hospital. Same shift. Same routine. And I woke up yesterday and realized I was going to do it for the rest of my life unless I changed something."

"So you quit."

"I gave notice. Four weeks. Which felt terrifying and liberating at the same time. And then I checked my clock and the countdown had jumped and I didn't know if I'd just made the best decision of my life or the worst."

I thought about that. About a countdown existing for six months. Waiting. And then suddenly accelerating the moment she made a choice.

"Maybe that's what it was measuring," I said. "Not the moment you'd meet me. The moment you'd be ready to."

She looked up. "That's even more romantic bullshit."

"Doesn't make it wrong."

The waitress came back. Asked if we wanted anything else. Sera ordered actual food this time. Pancakes. I got the same.

09:24:45.

"Can I ask you something?" Sera said.

"Yeah."

"What do you do? For work. You said you were delivering clocks this morning."

"I'm a courier. Guild approved. I pick up finished clocks from workshops and deliver them to customers or other workshops. It's boring. Pays okay. Lets me walk around the city all day instead of sitting in an office."

"You like it?"

"It's fine. Not what I thought I'd be doing. But fine."

"What did you think you'd be doing?"

I laughed. "When I was younger? Something important. Something that mattered. The usual delusional kid stuff."

"And now?"

"Now I deliver clocks and try not to think too hard about whether my life is going anywhere."

She nodded. Like she understood exactly what I meant.

"I became a nurse because I wanted to help people," she said. "Sounds noble, right? But mostly I just change bedpans and check vitals and watch people be sick. It's not what I imagined either."

"Maybe that's our problem. We keep comparing reality to what we imagined instead of what actually is."

"That's surprisingly philosophical for four in the morning."

"I'm very deep after midnight."

She laughed. Actual laugh. Not bitter. Just amused.

The food arrived. We ate in comfortable silence. The kind that only happens when you're too tired to perform or pretend.

09:47:12.

"I'm scared," she said quietly. Fork halfway to her mouth. "I've been scared since yesterday morning. Since the countdown jumped. But especially since it hit zero."

"Me too."

"What if this is it? What if the clocks measure however long we're supposed to know each other and then they reset and we never see each other again?"

"Then we make it count."

"How?"

"I don't know. Talk. Figure each other out. See what happens."

She set her fork down. "That's terrifying."

"Yep."

"But you want to anyway."

"Yep."

10:03:28.

We stayed in that booth for hours. Talking. About everything. About nothing.

She told me about growing up in the coastal provinces. About her parents who wanted her to take over the family fishing business. About running away to the city at eighteen with nothing but a backpack and determination.

I told her about my family in the northern kingdoms. About my father who died when I was twelve. About my mother's countdown that showed three days before he passed. About how she looked at that clock every hour trying to prepare for something you can't prepare for.

We talked about clocks. About how they shape everything. How knowing change is coming colors every decision. How the wealthy hoard temporal awareness while the poor navigate blind.

We talked about the hospital. About the delivery job. About dreams we'd had and abandoned. About the quiet desperation of being in your late twenties and realizing you're not who you thought you'd be.

The waitress refilled our coffee four times. Stopped asking if we wanted anything else.

Other customers came and went. Early morning commuters grabbing breakfast. Night shift workers heading home. Nobody paid attention to us.

Just two people in a booth. Clocks on the table. Counting up.

11:47:33.

"I should go home," Sera said finally. "Sleep. Before I fall asleep in this booth."

"Yeah. Me too."

Neither of us moved.

"When do you work next?" she asked.

"Tomorrow. Today. Whatever day this is now. I have deliveries starting at ten."

"I'm off tonight. The next sleep cycle."

"You could come over," I said. "If you want. My place. We could figure this out. What the clocks are doing. What any of this means."

"That's probably a bad idea."

"Probably."

"But I'll come anyway."

She wrote her address on a napkin. Slid it across the table.

"Actually, come to mine instead. Six o'clock?"

"I'll be there."

She stood. Picked up her clock. Looked at me one more time.

11:53:17.

"Matthias?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For not thinking I'm crazy."

"You are crazy. We both are. But at least we're crazy together."

She smiled. Real. Tired. Genuine.

"See you at six."

She left. I watched her go through the window. Walking down the street. Disappearing around a corner.

I sat there for another few minutes. Looking at my clock.

11:57:44.

Nearly twelve hours since zero. Since the moment everything changed.

I paid for both meals. Left a stupid big tip because the waitress had let us occupy that booth for four hours. Walked out into the early morning.

The city was fully awake now. Rush of people heading to work. The daily rhythm picking up speed.

My clock kept counting up.

And somewhere across the city, Sera's was doing the same thing.

Twelve hours down. However many to go.

Whatever happened next, at least I wouldn't face it alone.