Reina didn't let go of his wrist.
Even after the courtyard returned to normal—
even after the ticking faded and the air steadied—
even after students walked past them without noticing anything strange…
Her fingers remained locked around his wrist like she was afraid he would slip through time if she loosened her grip.
Jay stayed silent.
He didn't trust himself to speak yet.
Reina's breathing was uneven, the kind of breath someone takes after seeing something their brain can't categorize.
Finally, she whispered,
"Jay… please tell me you saw that too."
Jay exhaled slowly.
"I did."
Her grip tightened.
"And you're not going to pretend it didn't happen, right? You're not going to say I imagined it?"
Jay shook his head.
"No. You didn't imagine it."
Her voice cracked, part fear, part disbelief.
"Then what was it?"
Jay opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Because how could he explain the impossible when he didn't even understand it himself?
He looked at her carefully, her silver hair trembling slightly in the breeze, her eyes wide and glassy, her fingers cold against his skin.
This was the first person in this world who had seen the fracture with him.
The first person who wasn't frozen.
The first person who wasn't alone in that white void.
That thought scared him more than the ticking.
---
"Let's… not talk here," Jay finally said quietly.
Reina nodded. She didn't argue.
She didn't even ask where they were going.
She just followed him.
Still holding his wrist.
---
They walked to the rooftop garden — a quiet spot most students ignored because the air purifiers hummed too loudly.
Today, it felt like the only place where reality might hold itself together.
The sky was pale, washed out from the earlier time distortion.
Clouds drifted slowly, unnaturally synchronized.
Reina let go of him only when they reached the far corner.
Then she stepped back.
Folded her arms.
And stared.
Her voice was soft, but it carried weight.
"Okay… start talking."
Jay rubbed the back of his neck.
He stared at the ground, where one of the solar tiles flickered slightly, its light struggling to stay even.
"I don't know where to start," he murmured.
"How about the part where time stopped," Reina said. Her voice wasn't accusatory — just desperate to understand. "And the part where you didn't freeze with everyone else."
Jay sighed.
"I wish I had a normal explanation."
Reina laughed — short, broken.
"Jay, nothing about today was normal. I just watched a leaf freeze mid-air and a tree made of clock parts glitch into existence. At this point, I'll take any explanation that isn't 'I'm going insane.'"
He hesitated.
Then he spoke slowly.
"You saw the silhouette, right? The… tree?"
Reina nodded. "Yes. What was it?"
Jay swallowed.
He still wasn't sure if it was memory…
or prophecy…
or madness.
"I think…" he began, voice shaking, "it's called the Clock Tree."
Reina frowned. "The what?"
"A… place. No— not a place." He closed his eyes. "I don't know. It felt familiar. Like something I'd seen before."
Reina's voice softened.
"In your dreams?"
Jay nodded.
"Last night."
She took a slow breath.
"And the man? The one who looked like… I don't know, some kind of monk or king?"
Jay's throat tightened.
"He said something," Jay whispered. "That I followed the ticking. That I'd walked far."
Reina stepped closer, her voice trembling.
"And who was he?"
Jay hesitated.
Then quietly, almost too quietly, he said—
"Parikshit."
Reina's breath caught.
"The Emperor?"
"I don't know," Jay said quickly. "Maybe it was just my dream trying to connect dots. Or my subconscious throwing images together. Or—"
Reina grabbed his sleeve, stopping his spiral.
"Jay," she said firmly.
"Dreams don't cause time to freeze."
He looked away.
She continued, voice gentler now.
"And… that word he said. 'Listener King.' Does that mean something to you?"
Jay opened his mouth—
but no answer came.
Because yes.
It did mean something.
Something deep in his bones, like a story he used to recite and forgot.
But he couldn't articulate it.
Instead he whispered,
"I'm scared, Reina."
Reina's expression softened instantly.
"Of what?"
He stared at his hands, fingers trembling faintly.
"Of remembering," he said.
"Or of what might happen if I do."
Reina swallowed, her voice small.
"And… you think remembering could break things?"
Jay gave a shaky laugh.
"Reina… things are already breaking."
He gestured around them — the flickering sky, the strange stillness in the air, the faint hum beneath the rooftop tiles that wasn't there yesterday.
Then—
the rooftop fan stuttered.
A harsh click.
A pause.
Another click.
And the sound stopped entirely.
Jay and Reina froze.
The wind stopped too.
Clouds halted in the sky again, like someone pressed pause.
Reina's face drained of color.
"Jay…"
He stepped slightly in front of her.
He didn't know why — instinct, maybe.
Not power.
Not protection.
Just… awareness.
Then he whispered to her,
"Stay behind me."
A faint ringing spread across the rooftop — that same underwater bell sound, soft but undeniable.
The air cooled.
And then — in the corner of the rooftop — dust lifted by itself, swirling as if stirred by invisible fingers.
The dust gathered, slowly forming a faint shape.
Not human.
Not tree.
Just—
a clock.
A floating outline of a clock made of light.
No hands.
No numbers.
Just a circle of soft gold, humming faintly.
Reina grabbed his arm.
"Jay— what is that—"
Jay stared at it.
He didn't know what it was.
But he knew what it meant.
Something had noticed him.
And it was reaching out.
He whispered, breath cold,
"It's watching."
The golden outline pulsed once—
twice—
then dissolved into the wind.
Time snapped back in an instant —
Wind.
Noise.
Motion.
Reina stumbled, breath shaking.
Jay caught her.
She clung to his sleeve again.
"Jay…" Her voice was barely a whisper. "You said you wanted a normal life."
Jay looked at the sky, which was too perfect again, too smooth, too still.
He nodded shakily.
"Yeah," he murmured.
"I did."
Reina's voice cracked.
"But the world isn't going to let you, is it?"
Jay didn't answer.
He couldn't.
Because deep in the center of his chest — beneath fear, beneath confusion — something old stirred, humming like a clock hand beginning to turn.
And quietly…
too quietly…
he felt the truth:
Time had recognized him.
And it would not stop until he remembered why.