Smoke lingered in the shop.
Not real smoke—not from fire. But sothing heavier. Thinner. Like the echo of sothing that tried to burn through, and failed.
Glass crunched underfoot as I shifted to stand. Every tick of the surviving clocks sounded unnatural now. Too loud. Too slow. Like ti itself was catching its breath.
Tatsuya still hadn't moved.
His sword was sheathed, but his eyes hadn't changed. He stood near the doorway, staring down at his hands like he didn't recognize them. Rin sat on the floor beside the workbench, clothing that sa old charm, her face pale but composed.
I felt like I was underwater—floating, breathless, stunned.
Then Shuji's voice cut through the haze.
"Sit."
We did.
He moved through the room like it was just another day's ss—stepping over splintered wood, brushing dust from an old chair, wiping glass from the counter with the sa cloth he used to polish tipieces.
"You're too calm," I said quietly.
He shrugged. "I've lived long enough to know when fear's useful, and when it just wastes ti."
He glanced at Tatsuya. "And you?"
"I don't know what that was," Tatsuya muttered.
Shuji tilted his head. "But you felt it."
"...Yes."
"Good."
I leaned forward. "What were they?"
Shuji looked at for a long ti.
Then he said, "They're not ghosts. They're not spirits. And they're not alive, not the way we are."
"They're shikigami," Rin whispered, still holding her charm. "Servants of sothing else. Sothing older."
Shuji raised an eyebrow. "You've seen them before."
She didn't answer.
He looked between the three of us. "Whatever they are, they were drawn to you. All of you. That ans this isn't random."
Tatsuya looked up. "And you? How did you fight them?"
Shuji rested his hand on the short blade. "This isn't the first ti I've seen things like this. But it's the first ti they've co this close."
I felt the silence deepen.
"What now?" I asked.
He didn't respond right away.
Instead, he reached below the counter and pulled out a stack of papers. Old, faded. Blueprints of clock chanisms... and sothing else.
One of the drawings showed a circle—not a chanical one. A seal. Inked carefully, surrounded by handwritten notes.
"This," he said, "was left behind by a man I once t. Said he'd seen ti twist around people. Said it had a pattern. I thought he was mad."
"What happened to him?" I asked.
"He disappeared."
He folded the papers and tucked them away.
"Sothing's happening," he said. "Sothing bigger than you, or , or this little shop."
Rin looked up. "What do we do?"
Shuji looked at , then out the broken window.
"We find soone who's seen it too."
***
That night, Shuji handed a na.
A man who lived beyond the village, near the foot of the hills. A forr samurai, long retired. Said to be skilled. Said to be difficult. Said to see things no one else wanted to see.
Shimada Genzo.
"Tell him I sent you," Shuji said. "And don't let him scare you off."
"Why would he?"
Shuji gave a tired smile.
"Because he thinks ti already killed him once."
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