The neon signs of Seoul bled into the wet pavement, casting long, fractured shadows across the alleyways.
I kept my head down, pulling the collar of my stolen jacket up to my chin.
The diary in my pocket felt like a warm brick against my ribs.
It was a constant reminder that I was being hunted.
302 Mapo Street.
I checked the numbers on the rundown buildings as I hurried down the quiet, narrow street.
Mapo Street was in one of the older districts.
The shiny glass skyscrapers of the city were far behind me.
Here, the air smelled like roasted chestnuts, damp earth, and old secrets.
Finally, I stopped in front of a narrow storefront.
The wooden sign above the door was faded, its paint peeling off in long strips.
It simply read: Timepiece Antiques.
I glanced over my shoulder.
The street was empty.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed the heavy wooden door open.
A small brass bell jingled overhead.
The inside of the shop was dimly lit by warm, yellow lamps.
The walls were completely covered in clocks.
Grandfather clocks, silver pocket watches, cuckoo clocks, and strange mechanical gears hung from every available space.
But the weirdest part?
None of them were ticking.
The shop was dead silent.
”We’re closed,” a voice called out from the back.
It was a woman’s voice.
Smooth, calm, but with a sharp edge to it.
I stepped further inside, my boots squeaking slightly on the dusty wooden floor.
“I’m not here to buy anything.”
A curtain behind the front counter was pushed aside.
A young woman stepped out, wiping grease off her hands with a rag.
She looked to be about my age.
She had dark hair tied up in a messy bun, holding a small screwdriver between her teeth.
She wore a heavy leather apron over a simple white shirt, and there was a faint smudge of oil on her left cheek.
When she looked up at me, her eyes locked onto mine.
They were piercing, dark, and entirely unafraid.
For a second, my chest tightened.
My heart skipped a weird, heavy beat.
I had never seen her before in my life, yet something about the way she looked at me felt dangerously familiar.
She took the screwdriver out of her mouth and leaned against the glass counter.
Her eyes scanned me from head to toe.
I knew I looked terrible.
My clothes were torn, I smelled like a dumpster, and I had a fresh cut bleeding on my forehead.
”You look like you fell out of a moving train,” she said, her lips curving into a slight smirk.
“If you’re looking for a hospital, there’s a clinic two blocks down.”
”I’m not looking for a doctor,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
“I’m looking for the Broken Clock.”
The smirk vanished from her face.
The air in the room suddenly felt heavy.
She stopped wiping her hands and tossed the rag onto the counter.
She stared at me in complete silence for five long seconds.
”Who sent you?” she asked.
Her voice was much colder now.
”A friend,” I lied.
Or maybe it was the truth.
Was my past self my friend?
“He told me you would know what it means.”
She crossed her arms.
“That friend of yours must be a ghost.
The person who asked me to hold onto that item hasn’t been seen in three years.
He told me he would only send someone he trusted with his life.”
She leaned closer over the counter.
“So, tell me your name.”
My mouth opened to answer, but the warning from the red ink flashed in my mind.
Do not tell her your real name.
I swallowed hard.
“My name is Jin.”
She tilted her head, her dark eyes studying my face.
She was looking for a lie, and she was incredibly good at it.
I forced myself to maintain eye contact, refusing to blink.
”Jin,” she repeated slowly.
A faint smile returned to her lips.
“Right.
Sure it is.
You’re a terrible liar, ‘Jin’.”
”Does it matter?” I asked.
”In my line of work?
Yes.
Names have power.” She turned around, walking toward a large, wooden cabinet behind the counter.
“I’m Sua, by the way.
Though I guess you don’t care about my real name either.”
Sua.
The name echoed in my head.
It fit her perfectly.
She reached behind a row of dusty grandfather clocks and pressed a hidden button.
A small drawer popped open with a soft click.
She reached inside and pulled out a small, square wooden box.
She placed the box on the glass counter between us.
”He paid me a lot of money to keep this safe,” Sua said, tapping her fingers against the wood.
“He also told me that whoever came to collect it would bring trouble to my doorstep.”
”I made sure I wasn’t followed,” I said quickly.
”Everyone thinks they weren’t followed, until the windows shatter,” she replied dryly.
She opened the box.
Resting on a bed of dark velvet was a silver pocket watch.
The glass face of the watch was completely shattered, and the metal hands were bent and broken.
It looked like a piece of junk.
”Go ahead,” Sua said, nodding toward it.
“It’s yours now.”
I reached out carefully.
My fingers brushed against the cold silver.
The moment I touched the watch, the diary in my coat pocket grew incredibly hot.
It felt like a burning coal pressing against my ribs.
I winced, grabbing my side.
”Are you okay?” Sua asked, stepping around the counter.
Her tough exterior faded for a second, replaced by genuine concern.
She reached out, gently grabbing my arm to steady me.
Her touch was warm.
For a brief moment, the agonizing headache that had been pounding in my skull since I woke up disappeared.
It was as if her presence grounded me, pulling me out of the chaos of forty-six past deaths.
”I’m fine,” I breathed out, though I didn’t pull my arm away.
I picked up the broken watch with my free hand.
It felt too light to have gears inside.
I pressed the small button at the top.
The silver casing popped open.
There were no gears.
There was no clock face.
Inside the hollow casing was a small, neatly folded piece of aged paper.
My heart raced.
The first fragment of Page 12.
I carefully took the paper out and unfolded it.
It was torn at the edges, clearly part of a larger page.
The handwriting was unmistakably mine.
They don’t use their own faces.
The Apex Foundation controls the city by wearing the skin of the people we trust.
The assemblyman isn’t dead yet because they need to put on his face first.
The man leading the strike teams is—
The fragment cut off right there.
”Damn it,” I muttered, gripping the paper tightly.
It gave me a massive clue, but held back the most important name.
”Bad news?” Sua asked, her hand still resting lightly on my arm.
Before I could answer, the warm diary in my pocket suddenly flared with a heat so intense I cried out, stumbling backward.
I ripped the book out of my jacket.
Right on the cover, bright red ink was bleeding through the leather, flashing like a warning siren.
DUCK!
”Get down!” I yelled.
I lunged forward, wrapping my arms around Sua’s waist.
I tackled her to the floor behind the heavy oak counter just as the front of the shop exploded.
CRASH!
The entire glass storefront shattered into a million pieces.
A heavy black van had just slammed through the entrance, crushing the wooden door and sending antique clocks flying across the room.
The deafening roar of the crash was followed by the sound of heavy combat boots crunching on broken glass.
”Check the perimeter.
Find Run 47,” a cold, metallic voice ordered.
It was the androids.
They had found me.
Sua was trapped beneath me, breathing heavily.
Her eyes were wide with shock, but she didn’t scream.
She looked at the destroyed front of her shop, then looked up at me.
”You said you weren’t followed,” she whispered fiercely.
”I lied about that, too,” I whispered back.
”You’re an idiot,” she hissed.
She shoved me off her slightly and reached under the oak counter.
I heard the loud, heavy clack of a weapon being loaded.
Sua pulled out a massive, sawed-off double-barrel shotgun.
She checked the ammo, her face completely calm despite the android killers stepping into her shop.
”Well, Jin,” she said, giving me that sharp, fearless smirk again.
“I hope you know how to shoot.
Because if we survive this, you owe me a new front door.”
I looked at her, holding a shotgun in a destroyed room, surrounded by killers, and felt that strange flutter in my chest again.
Yeah, I thought to myself.
I’m definitely going to fall in love with her.
”I’ll buy you a whole new shop,” I promised, pulling the stolen police revolver from my waistband.
Together, we stood up from behind the counter, ready to fight.