Chapter 5: Smoke in the Gears

Evening draped slow over the town. Lantern light pulsed faint at the workbench, where Lira bent over a pocket watch—its gears laid bare like a puzzle mid-unraveled. Brass edges flickered, trembling faintly in the shifting light. Shadows stretched long from the shelves, restless. The clocks ticked unevenly—some sure, others straying—an offbeat rhythm she let fade to background.

Her pencil rasped softly, sketching gear curves onto a page already smudged. Strands of hair caught the flame’s glow as she leaned closer. Graphite streaked her fingers. Her scarf lay tangled on the shelf beside her. After hours hunched, her dress was streaked with folds, as if she’d just risen.

Across the room, he leaned against the counter, arms crossed. Damp patched his shirt from sealing the roof. His gaze tracked the precise motion of her hand as she clicked a gear into place. The antique clock sat nearby, silent. The key beside it still held the heat of yesterday’s turns—rain-soaked and reckless.

The air smelled of metal and moments too long. A chill crept through the panes. He stepped closer, boots scuffing softly.

“You’re late with it,” he said, his voice low, roughened by the hour. He nodded toward the watch—its hands stalled at half-past three since dusk settled.

She paused. Her pencil eased onto the bench’s edge. Paper curled slightly in the damp.

“Worth the time,” she said. Her tone curved soft.

She stretched. Her dress pulled taut, catching the lantern’s flame. He glanced at her sketch. The arc of a gear blurred in graphite—precise, even this late. Her presence threaded the hush, constant as the ticking.

She reached for the key. Quick. Certain.

The watch nudged aside with a soft clatter. She slotted the key into the antique clock. It clicked home.

“One more,” she murmured.

There was a spark behind her voice.

The air snapped, sharp and bright. A buzz sliced through the lantern’s hum.

Time slipped.

She landed again at the bench. The watch unopened. The page unmarked.

She leaned across, smiling boldly.

Her lips brushed his wrist—a kiss, quick and warm.

Heat flared under his skin. He froze. The pulse behind his calm surged as she drew back, her eyes steady. A faint flush lit her cheeks, lantern-soft.

“Gone in a turn,” she whispered.

She turned the key again.

Buzz.

Time skipped.

She sat once more, pencil lifted. The sketch half-traced. The watch untouched.

But warmth lingered. Unreset. He rubbed his wrist, jaw tight.

He stepped back. The boards creaked beneath him.

“Mind yourself,” he said. Rough, but not sharp. A hedge against the tremor she’d left behind.

She nodded, humming low. Pencil in hand. Her glance flicked his way—quick, sharp, knowing.