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Elias was a man of quiet routines, his world measured by the steady tick-tock of the hundreds of timepieces in his small shop. At seventy, his hands were steady, but his eyes often tired before the sun set.
"It’s just a machine," Leo muttered, frustrated when a tiny spring popped out for the third time.
One afternoon, a teenager named Leo wandered in, not to buy anything, but because he was fascinated by a broken pocket watch he’d found in a thrift store. He had the curiosity of youth—scattered, fast, and digital—but he lacked the patience to understand the gears.
