The night stretched too long.
Not in hours.
In weight.
Rue Yim did not remember lying down.
She did not remember closing her eyes.
But she remembered opening them.
And the world was wrong.
At first, it was subtle.
A shift in sound.
The palace was quiet—too quiet—but beneath that quiet, there was something else.
A rhythm.
Distant.
Faint.
—clack—clack—clack—
She stilled.
It didn't belong.
The palace had no machinery.
No wheels.
No tracks.
But the sound continued.
—clack—clack—clack—
Steady.
Measured.
Like something moving forward without hesitation.
Her breath slowed.
"This isn't real."
She said it out loud.
The sound didn't stop.
—clack—clack—clack—
It grew louder.
Closer.
Rue Yim pushed herself upright.
Her room looked the same.
The ink stain still marked the table.
The door remained closed.
The shadows lay where they should.
Everything was normal.
Except—
The sound.
She swung her legs off the bed.
Her feet touched the floor.
Cold.
Real.
