De Vos & Sons Watchmakers sat at the edge of Old Town, a run-down store that had stood on the corner of Fulford and Glenrow for more than half a century. Behind the dim, dusty windows, the shelves were crowded with clocks and watches of every age and type. None of them ticked anymore. A thousand hands rested in the exact place where they had stopped.

  Glass cases along the counter contained mounds of wristwatches in various states of disrepair—leather straps, steel bands, silver and gold, old and new. Trays of cogs and tiny parts sat behind the desk, each marked with a neat handwritten label. It was obvious there was a system at work, even if its logic remained a mystery to anyone who saw it.

  At the back of the room, beneath the bright circle of an industrial desk lamp, Selina De Vos worked at a narrow bench. A jeweler’s loupe clenched in her eye, tweezers moving inside the opened watch on the pad before her.

  The rusty bell behind the shop door rattled as it swung open.

  A tall figure stepped inside, a cool draft accompanying him. His boots landed without a sound. He paused just inside, his gaze taking in the the whole room.

  Selina didn’t look up.

  “You’re late,” she said, her tone even, hands still working.

  “I’m never late,” Koshay replied.

  She set the tweezers down. Lifted the loupe from her eye. Only then did she look up at him.

  The man in the doorway wasn’t the one she remembered. He’d always been tall—she used to like that—but now the height felt unnatural, as if he’d been pared down to an outline. His skin had lost its warmth and it clung tightly to the bones of his face. Dark rings under his eyes suggested a lack of sleep. Maybe food too. In the six years since she’d last seen him, time had done a lot more than just age him.

  “You look terrible,” she said matter-of-factly.

  Her eyes moved back down to the watch.

  “Do you have the package?”

  His voice was low, rougher than she remembered. He let the question hang before stepping farther inside, his weight almostsilent as it shifted across the old wooden floorboards.

  Selina leaned back in her chair, arms folded loosely—weighing out her answer.

  “You know, my father owned this shop for sixty years,” she said. “It’s all he ever knew. He liked watches because they don’t lie to you. He used to say punctuality was the measure of a man. He believed that no matter how chaotic the world became, time was always dependable. It kept you grounded. Kept you honest.”

  Koshay’s jaw shifted.

  “When his time was finally up,” she gestured around the room, “he left me and my brothers this place. He thought he was looking after us. It was a successful business once—a pillar of the community. Now it’s little more than a ghost. A place built on patience and precision, in a world that no longer values either.”

  “Those things still matter.”

  She tilted her head.

  “That’s why people like you come here. In your line of work, craftsmanship still matters. That’s why, after my father died, my brothers and I decided to branch out.”

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  She reached under the counter and pressed a switch.

  A soft click. The back wall eased open, revealing shelves stacked with sealed cases. She took one down.

  “ID” She slid the box across to him. “Paper, for now. The digital profile will be online later.”

  He opened it with a flick of his thumb. A glance. A nod. No comment.

  Selina rose from the bench and crossed to a narrow door at the back of the shop. She pushed it open with her shoulder.

  “Come on.”

  The room beyond was spare—bare walls, a single table, no clocks. The hum of a boiler was the only sound. A locked case sat at the center of the table. Selina set her hands on either side of it and pushed it across to him.

  Koshay lifted it, studied the lock, then looked at her.

  “Your birthday,” she said.

  He turned the dials. A quiet click answered.

  Inside lay a sniper rifle in matte-black pieces, each set into its molded slot.

  Koshay didn’t speak, but something shifted in his eyes. He lifted the pieces out and assembled them with a steady hand. The parts slid together, each click echoing in the quiet room.

  “You haven’t lost your touch,” Selina said, resting a hip against the table.

  He didn’t answer. He finished the last connection, brought the rifle to his shoulder, and tested the scope with one eye closed.

  “Oh. One more thing...”

  She reached into her coat, pulled out a black cotton bag, and tossed it to him. He caught it and tipped the contents into his hand.

  It was a gray metal band and a small chip with a clip attached.

  “What is it?”

  “An EverBand. The latest wearable tech. All the cool kids have one. The band goes on your wrist. The clip sits behind your ear. Augmented reality—real time digital overlays. This one’s custom, been specially modified to sync with the rifle. It’ll show you wind speed, trajectory, facial recognition, range-to-target.”

  “I don’t need it.” Koshay dropped it on the table.

  “Our friend thought you might say that. They asked me to remind you of the terms of your agreement.”

  Silence settled between them.

  Then he scooped it up and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

  Selina’s mouth twitched. “I’ll pass along your gratitude.”

  She crossed to the rear of the room and pushed open the fire-escape door. The iron bar gave a dull clunk.

  They stepped into the yard behind the building—a square of concrete bordered by wire fencing. The air was cool, carrying the faint smell of oil and cleaning solvent. Half a dozen cars sat in a line. Closest to the door sat a plain black car.

  “The plates are fresh,” Selina said. “Completely clean. You won’t come up on any databases.”

  Koshay stopped a few feet away, studying the car without moving closer. The bonnet threw back a stretched reflection—long, thin, distorted.

  “This won’t do.”

  Selina folded her arms. “Why not? This is an invisibility cloak on wheels.”

  “I need tints.” He nodded toward a dark green sedan in the far corner. Its windows were fully blacked out, the paint swallowing what little light the yard offered. “That one.”

  Selina tracked his line of sight and shook her head. “Sorry—no can do. That’s part of another customer’s package. Prepaid. Ready for pickup.”

  Koshay turned toward her and reached into his coat. He drew out a thick stack of folded bills held with an elastic band. He set it on the hood of the black car.

  Selina held his gaze. She didn’t look at the money.

  He reached into another pocket and pulled out a long rifle round—a sniper shell. He rolled it once between his fingers, then lifted it into her line of sight. He set it upright on the bonnet, a hand’s breadth from the cash.

  “Not anymore.”

  Selina held his gaze a beat longer, then finally looked down. Her eyes moved from the bullet to the bills, then back again. She straightened, folding her arms. Her expression didn’t falter, though something flashed behind her eyes.

  “Most guys bring flowers.”

  “I don’t have time to play nice.”

  She stepped forward, her boots clicking on the floor, and picked up the shell. She studied it with detached curiosity, then dropped it to the floor. She picked up the cash and pocketed it.

  “Fine,” she said. “Every package is customizable.”

  A single nod. “Good.”

  “I’ll get the keys.”

  She went to the lockbox, pulled out the keys, and set them on the bonnet of the green sedan.

  “All yours.”

  He picked them up.

  “You know, Koshay, you’re a dying breed.”

  For the first time since he’d walked in, he smiled. A real one. For a second, he almost looked like the man she remembered.

  He opened the sedan’s door, slid into the driver’s seat, and started the engine. Selina crossed the yard, unlocked the wire gate, and pulled it open. The car rolled forward, the window down.

  She leaned in. “I guess I’ll see you in another six years, cowboy.”

  Koshay looked her in the eye.

  “No. You won’t.”

  The engine growled and the sedan pulled out into the street.

  Selina De Vos stood there a moment longer. Then she swung the gate shut and latched it.