The shop was tucked away in a dead-end alley, its windows obscured by a century of grime. Inside, thousands of clocks ticked in a maddening, asynchronous rhythm.
In the back sat an old man, his eyes hidden behind a dozen magnifying lenses. He didn't look up when they entered.
"You're late," the old man croaked. "I expected a man of your experience to be faster, Arthur."
Kaelen froze. The name hit him like a physical blow. He hadn't heard that name in fifteen years. He felt his hand go to his dagger, but the Watchmaker finally looked up, pushing his lenses aside.
"Don't bother," the old man said, smiling with yellowed teeth. "I'm not a threat. I'm just another ghost who remembers a world with internet and air conditioning."