possibilities. The man from her father's workshop was working with someone else

her's journal across the table. The sketches of clocks, cryptic notes, and hidden compa

heart pounding. She hadn't told anyone where she was st

whispered, unl

the threshold. His dark hair was disheveled, and his coat w

nd then... I heard someone was asking questions about

t stop now. Whoever killed my father is after something. Someth

o the table. "That's h

d papers. "I think this watch is a key. It has to

gs with the care of someone who had spent years learning the

ese sketches. The compartments, the mechanisms, they're all s

the journal. "If we're going to figure this out,

t like stepping into a trap, but Thomas was right. It wa

nce. The workshop sat in shadows, its door hanging slightly ajar. Emilia's breath

omas whispered,

taking in the shattered glass and overturned furniture. Her father's too

e narrowing. "Look at this," he said, pointing

clock was old, its face adorned with Roman numerals and delicate han

looking for

mall, barely noticeable buttons hidden within the carvi

ngers trembled as she opened it, revea

mas said, his voi

t just a map, it was a guide to something hidden, so

oed through the workshop. The door slamm

hissed, grab

rned furniture and shattered glass. Emilia clutched the map

outed, and the sound o

arrow passage. They crouched behind a stack of crat

of the night. Whoever these people were, they wouldn'