The waltz felt like it lasted forever. Ray tried to follow Sylvia's lead, tried to look natural, but every second he expected to feel Leon's hand on his shoulder, hear the charge of a time-draining weapon, see his century disappear in an instant.
"Smile," Sylvia whispered. "You look like you're being tortured."
"I feel like I'm being tortured."
"Welcome to my entire childhood." Sylvia spun them gracefully, putting more couples between them and Leon's line of sight. "See the terrace doors on the east side? In twenty minutes, we drift that direction. Casual, like we're getting air. Then we disappear."
"What about your father?"
"What about him?"
"Won't he notice you left?"
Sylvia's laugh was bitter. "My father won't notice I'm gone until he needs me for another photo opportunity or business introduction. Trust me, we're invisible to him unless we're useful."
The music ended. Polite applause rippled through the crowd. Ray and Sylvia separated, and Ray fought the urge to immediately check where Leon was. Instead, he accepted another glass of champagne from a passing waiter and focused on looking bored, the way everyone else here seemed to be.
"Ray Turner!"
Ray's heart stopped. He turned to find Philippe Weis himself approaching, Leon one step behind him. Up close, Weis was even more imposing—tall, silver-haired, with eyes that calculated profit margins while pretending to make small talk. His suit probably cost a decade. His watch, visible on his right wrist, was platinum and diamonds. His clock showed a number so high Ray couldn't read it from this angle, but it had to be measured in centuries.
"Father," Sylvia said smoothly, positioning herself slightly between Ray and the two men. "I was just introducing Ray to some of your guests."
"So I see. Isabelle mentioned we had new money in attendance." Weis extended his hand, and Ray had no choice but to shake it. The man's grip was firm, possessive. "Turner, yes? Manufacturing family from Milltown?"
"That's right, sir."
"Interesting. I make it my business to know the manufacturing sector, and I don't recall a Turner." Weis's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Perhaps you could tell me more about your grandfather's operation?"
It was a test. Ray knew it immediately. Weis was probing, looking for inconsistencies, trying to determine if Ray was lying.
"My grandfather preferred to keep a low profile," Ray said, summoning confidence he didn't feel. "Believed that flaunting wealth attracted the wrong kind of attention. He built his business quietly over forty years, focused on specialty components for the time banking infrastructure. Died last year and left me the company and his accumulated time."
The lie was detailed enough to sound plausible, vague enough to be hard to verify immediately. Ray had learned early that the best lies were built on frameworks of truth.
Weis studied him for a long moment. "Specialty components. How... specific. And what brings you to New Greenwich?"
"Expanding the business. Looking for new opportunities." Ray met Weis's eyes directly, refusing to show fear. "And I've always believed in understanding the markets from the top down. Your parties are legendary, sir. Thank you for allowing Sylvia to bring me."
"My daughter has always had... eclectic taste in companions." Weis glanced at Sylvia with an expression Ray couldn't quite read. Disappointment? Suspicion? "Though I must say, Mr. Turner, you carry yourself like someone who's known struggle. There's a tension in you that old money never develops."
Behind Weis, Leon was watching Ray with unwavering focus. Not moving, not accusing, just watching. Like a predator deciding whether to pounce.
"My grandfather was a hard man," Ray said. "He believed in work ethic, even for family. I spent summers in the factories, learning the business from the ground up. Maybe that's what you're sensing."
"Perhaps." Weis's smile remained fixed. "Well, enjoy the party, Mr. Turner. And do keep in touch. I'm always interested in promising young entrepreneurs."
It was a dismissal. Weis turned away, moving toward another cluster of guests. But Leon didn't follow immediately. He stood there, still watching Ray, his expression unreadable.
"Mr. Turner," Leon said quietly.
"Timekeeper Leon," Ray replied, keeping his voice steady.
"You look familiar. Have we met before?"
"I don't believe so. I'm new to New Greenwich."
"Hmm." Leon tilted his head slightly, still studying Ray's face. "Strange. I'm usually very good with faces. And you remind me of someone. Someone I've been looking for."
Sylvia stepped in smoothly. "Leon, you can't possibly have met Ray before. He only arrived in New Greenwich yesterday. Unless you've been spending time in Milltown?"
"Not recently." But Leon's eyes never left Ray. "Although I have been investigating a case that started in Dayton and may have crossed into the higher zones. A man named Ray Shivers. Factory worker. About your height, your build, your age."
Ray's blood turned to ice, but he forced his expression to remain neutral. "Common enough description. I imagine there are hundreds of men in the city who fit it."
"Perhaps. But this particular man came into possession of a very large amount of time. More than a century, in fact. And the man who gave it to him died immediately after." Leon smiled slightly. "Curious coincidence, wouldn't you say? A factory worker named Ray suddenly having the same amount of time that Henry Hamilton transferred before his death?"
"Leon," Sylvia said, her voice taking on an edge. "This is my father's party. Are you really going to interrogate my guest?"
"Not interrogating. Just making conversation." Leon finally looked away from Ray, turning to Sylvia. "Though you should be more careful about the company you keep, Miss Weis. Sometimes people aren't who they claim to be."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Leon nodded once to Ray, then walked away to join Philippe Weis across the room. But Ray could feel the Timekeeper's attention like a weight, even from a distance.
"We need to leave," Ray whispered. "Now."
"Not yet. If we run immediately after that conversation, it confirms everything." Sylvia took Ray's arm and guided him toward a quieter corner of the room. "Fifteen more minutes. We'll chat with a few harmless guests, laugh, pretend nothing's wrong. Then we slip out."
"He knows who I am."
"He suspects. That's different from knowing. And without proof, even Leon can't arrest someone at my father's party." Sylvia's grip on his arm tightened. "Trust me, Ray. I've been navigating these waters my entire life. We can do this."
The next fifteen minutes were agony. Ray made small talk with people whose names he immediately forgot. He laughed at jokes he didn't find funny. He sipped champagne he couldn't taste. And every second, he felt Leon's eyes on him, watching, calculating, waiting for Ray to make a mistake.
Finally, Sylvia steered them toward the terrace doors. "Air?" she said loudly enough for nearby guests to hear. "This crowd is stifling."
They stepped out onto a stone terrace overlooking manicured gardens lit by carefully placed lights. Other guests were scattered around, smoking, talking, enjoying the night air. Sylvia led Ray to the far edge, away from the others.
"Service path is just beyond those hedges," she whispered. "We walk casually, like we're taking a stroll. Once we're out of sight from the house, we run."
"What about your car?"
"Forget the car. They'll be watching it." Sylvia checked over her shoulder. "Ready?"
Ray nodded.
They descended steps into the garden, moving at a leisurely pace, just another couple taking a romantic walk. The sounds of the party faded behind them. The garden stretched on, paths winding between sculpted bushes and imported trees. Ray forced himself not to run, not to look back, not to do anything that would draw attention.
They rounded a corner, out of sight from the mansion.
"Now," Sylvia said.
They ran.
The service path was narrow, meant for gardeners and maintenance workers, hidden from the main grounds by clever landscaping. Sylvia moved with confidence, clearly having taken this route before. Ray followed, his new shoes slipping slightly on the gravel.
Behind them, a shout. "Stop!"
Ray glanced back. Leon was at the terrace edge, having followed them out. The Timekeeper vaulted over the railing and hit the ground running, moving with frightening speed.
"Don't look back!" Sylvia gasped. "Service gate is ahead!"
They burst through a gap in the hedge and nearly collided with a gate in the estate's outer wall. Sylvia's hand went to a hidden panel, pressing buttons in a sequence. The gate clicked open.
They ran through just as Leon crashed through the hedge behind them.
"Ray Shivers!" Leon shouted. "Stop running! You're only making this worse!"
They were on a residential street now, wealthy homes on either side. Sylvia pulled Ray into a sprint, heading for a parked car halfway down the block—not hers, just a random vehicle.
"You can hotwire one of these?" Ray asked.
"I'm full of surprises."
But before they reached the car, another Timekeeper vehicle appeared at the end of the street, lights flashing. It accelerated toward them, cutting off their escape route.
"This way!" Sylvia yanked Ray into a narrow alley between two mansions.
They ran through the alley into another street, then another alley, weaving through New Greenwich's wealthy neighborhoods like rats in a maze. Behind them, sirens wailed. Leon's voice crackled over loudspeakers: "Attention all units. Suspect is Ray Shivers, wanted for questioning in the Hamilton death. Armed and dangerous. Approach with caution."
"I'm not armed," Ray panted.
"They don't care. It's standard procedure to escalate." Sylvia led them through a garden, over a low wall, into someone's backyard. Lights flared on in the house. Dogs started barking.
They kept running.
Ray's lungs burned. His new clothes were getting torn and dirty. But he didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Because stopping meant Leon catching up, meant losing his century, meant dying in the street just like his mother.
Sylvia pulled them down another alley, and suddenly they were at the edge of a park—a large green space, mostly dark, with trees providing cover. They ducked into the shadows just as another Timekeeper vehicle raced past on the street.
"We can't keep running," Ray gasped, bent over, trying to catch his breath. "They'll seal off the district. We'll be trapped."
"I know." Sylvia was breathing hard too, but her mind was clearly working. "We need to get you out of New Greenwich entirely. Back to Milltown, maybe even Dayton. Somewhere Leon can't follow easily."
"That's suicide. I can't survive in Dayton with this much time. I'll be robbed or killed within hours."
"Then we go further. East Greenwich, maybe. Or—" Sylvia's eyes widened. "The Warehouse."
"What warehouse?"
"There's a place in the industrial district. Abandoned manufacturing complex that the resistance uses as a safe house. If we can get there, we can hide until things cool down."
"What resistance?"
Sylvia looked at him in the dim light. "Ray, you didn't think Henry Hamilton was working alone, did you? There are people who've been trying to change the system for years. They're small, disorganized, mostly ineffective. But they exist. And they might be your only chance."
Sirens echoed in the distance, getting closer.
Ray checked his clock: 105:15:39:17.
Still so much time. But what good was a century if you couldn't survive the next hour?
"Lead the way," Ray said.
They moved through the park, staying in shadows, heading east toward the industrial district where New Greenwich's wealth transitioned into the machinery that maintained it. The beautiful facade giving way to the grimy reality underneath.
Behind them, the hunt continued.
But ahead, maybe, was hope.
Or at least a place to hide long enough to figure out what came next.
Ray thought about Hamilton's last words: "Don't waste my time."
He was trying. God, he was trying.
But staying alive long enough to use that time was turning out to be harder than he'd imagined.
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