Spark | 7 T

He was about to leave when his boot caught on something. Not scrap. Not a wire. A box. It was small, lead-colored, and humming with a warmth that had no business being in a frozen scrap heap.

Or he could do what the seventh forgemaster had intended: wear it. Let it anchor him to the now . Use it not to change the past or see the future, but to make the right choice in the single second that mattered.

He was standing at a crossroads. A girl was crying over a broken toy. A guard was shouting at an old man. A door was closing on a cry for help. spark 7 t

He could sell Spark 7 to the Consortium, the faceless guild that hoarded time-tech. He would be rich. Safe.

Leo pried it open. Inside, nestled in crushed velvet, lay a single, dull tooth. No—not a tooth. A gear. A tiny, cog-like thing no bigger than his thumbnail. It was cold. Dead. He was about to leave when his boot caught on something

He had a choice.

He slipped it into his watch.

Leo looked down at the dull gear. It pulsed once—warm, like a heartbeat.