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The old clock on the mantel ticked with a heavy, rhythmic thud. Elias sat by the hearth, watching the embers fade into grey ash. For fifty years, he had wound that clock every night, a silent promise kept to a woman who was no longer there. Tonight, his hands trembled. He reached for the silver key, but paused. The house was too quiet, the air thick with the scent of dried lavender and dust. With a weary smile, Elias laid the key on the table. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and let the ticking stop.

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The old clock on the mantel ticked with a heavy, rhythmic thud. Elias sat by the hearth, watching the embers fade int...

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