They burst into the alley behind the shop, boots slapping wet cobbles. Fog swallowed the gas lamps, turning London into a half-drowned ghost. Reg's lungs burned; the stolen thirty seconds still buzzed in his veins like cheap gin. Isabella ran beside him, velvet cloak whipping, the glowing gear clutched in her bare fist now. Her glove had burned away the moment time snapped back.
"Left!" she hissed, yanking his sleeve. "The mews my carriage waits."
Reg laughed through gritted teeth. "Your carriage? The one with Crowe crests? We might as well wave a flag saying 'Arrest us.'"
A syringe whistled past his ear and shattered against brick. Another enforcer three now vaulted a low wall, mask gleaming like a skull. Church bells still rang backwards, each chime peeling paint from the sky.
Isabella skidded to a stop at a narrow gate, kicked it open. Inside, a black brougham stood ready, horses stamping. No driver. She had planned this. Of course she had.
"Get in," she ordered, shoving him toward the door.
Reg planted his feet. "Not until you tell me why you're helping the man who just stole your uncle's death."
She spun on him. Steel eyes flashed. Up close in the fog she looked younger, sharper, and terrifyingly alive. "Because the gear didn't just take thirty seconds from me tonight. It took something else. My shadow." She lifted one hand. Her silhouette on the wall moved two full seconds ahead of her body, flickering like a bad lantern slide. "I've been bleeding time since I was twelve. Legally. Quietly. To keep the family empire running. But that gear… it's rewriting the debt. If the Bishop finds out I'm compromised, he'll drain me dry in the public square and call it justice."
Another shot silver needle embedded in the carriage door. The horses screamed.
Reg grabbed her wrist the one without the gear and hauled her inside. "Then we're both damned. Drive!"
She slammed the door, snatched the reins through the front slit, and cracked them hard. The brougham lurched forward, wheels spraying mud. Behind them, enforcers poured into the mews, cassocks flapping like ravens.
The carriage rocked through twisting lanes. Reg braced against the seat, heart hammering. "Where are we going?"
"Southwark. There's a man who owes me favours. He keeps a room no clock can see."
Reg reached into his waistcoat and pulled out the gear. It spun slower now, veins pulsing in time with his pulse. "This thing… it let me steal time. Not bleed it. Steal it whole. I felt your uncle's last breath slide into my blood like warm wine. Thirty seconds of his life now mine. No debt. No God taking notice. Until tonight."
Isabella's laugh was bitter. "The Clock-God always notices. You just woke it up. Those reversed bells? That's its heartbeat changing rhythm. Every stolen second unravels one thread in its tapestry. Keep stealing and the whole century comes undone. Children unborn. Wars never fought. Me never born."
Reg leaned closer, the gear between them glowing hotter. "Then why not hand me over? Save yourself."
"Because I want what you have." Her voice dropped. "I want to stop paying. I want to live without the veins in my wrist being ledger entries. And right now, you're the only thief who can teach me."
The carriage burst onto Blackfriars Bridge. Below, the Thames glittered like spilled mercury. A figure stood in the middle of the road small, ragged, barefoot. A girl no older than eleven. She held a broken pocket watch that ticked without hands. Her eyes met Reg's through the window and she smiled, toothless and ancient.
Isabella yanked the reins. The horses reared.
The girl raised one tiny hand. The entire bridge froze mid-rush carriages, pedestrians, even the river current everything except the three of them.
She spoke, voice like rust on iron. "You took what wasn't yours, Clockmaker. Now the Unseen Clock wants payment in kind."
Reg's stolen seconds flared hot in his chest. The gear in his palm burned.
The girl flicked her wrist. Isabella's shadow tore free from her body, screaming as it flew toward the child and vanished into the broken watch.
Isabella collapsed against Reg, gasping, suddenly two seconds behind every movement.
The world snapped forward again.
The girl was gone.
The carriage slammed onward, but now the bells rang in reverse twice as fast. Somewhere beneath the bridge, something massive shifted in the dark water veins of brass and blood rising toward the surface.
Reg clutched the gear tighter. "What the hell was that?"
Isabella's voice came weak but steady. "Little Thread. The only soul with no time left to give. She guards the leaks. And she just marked us both."
Ahead, Southwark lights flickered. But behind them, the first Church carriage rounded the bridge corner, silver syringes glinting.
Reg met Isabella's eyes. "Still want to learn how to steal?"
She smiled, fierce and broken. "Teach me. Or we both die tonight."
The carriage plunged into the rookery alleys just as the Unseen Clock's first real vein split open beneath London, leaking raw time into the sewers like black rain.