The pocket watch felt heavier that night.

Ren sat on the edge of his cot, turning it over in his palm. The runes on its surface shimmered under the moonlight filtering through the wooden slats of the attic window. He hadn’t wound it. He hadn’t even opened it. And yet, something about it felt alive.

A whisper curled through the room.

Ren shot to his feet, heart hammering. The attic was small—barely large enough for his bed, a desk covered in old books, and a chest of spare clothes. There was nowhere to hide. Nowhere for a voice to come from.

And yet, it had spoken.

"Ren Valtheris."

He spun toward the window, but only the town stretched beyond it, rooftops bathed in silver light. The voice hadn’t come from outside.

It had come from the watch.

Ren hesitated, then slowly—very slowly—pressed the release latch. The cover flipped open with a soft click.

The hands of the watch were moving now.

Backward.

The whisper returned, threading through his mind like smoke. "You are not safe."

Ren’s fingers clenched around the watch. His breath came shallow, cold fear creeping up his spine. "Who are you?"

A pause.

Then, a single word, spoken like the hush of wind through forgotten ruins:

"A warning."

The watch's hands stopped.

And something knocked on his door.