Interlude I: Between Clocks
No one on the benches. Not because the night was cold. The light above the bus station display board was too still.
The timetable had gone dark days ago. Only one thing remained: a digital countdown. Unexplained. Unauthorised. Unmoving—until now.
02:09 01:36 00:58 It ticked down like a launch. Or a warning no one had received.
Across the road, the analogue clock above the railway station turned without care. A soft, mechanical tick each second. Then a pause. Then forward again.
No one noticed they were out of rhythm. Not yet.
00:04 00:03 00:02 00:01
And the analogue clock outside stuttered— a sound like teeth locking in a jaw too tight. Then silence.
The display board flashed once. Then nothing.
The Guardian did not intervene. But he was standing exactly between the two clocks.