The train stopped.

Steam hissed.

Cold air.

Silas stepped off.

Boots on gravel.

Click.

He adjusted his hat.

Brass button.

Cold metal.

He held the object.

A pocket watch.

Stopped.

1890.

He was a detective.

Or so he thought.

He walked into Millhaven.

Gray sky.

Smoke from chimneys.

The town smelled of coal and rot.

People looked at him.

Eyes wide.

Fear.

Or recognition?

Silas ignored them.

He went to the inn.

The Gilded Anchor.

Door creaked.

Dust motes.

Darkness.

He lit a match.

Flame flickered.

Room was sparse.

Bed.

Desk.

Mirror.

He placed the watch on the desk.

Click.

It sat there.

Dead.

He needed answers.

Who owned it?

Why was it here?

He went outside.

Streetlamp buzzed.

Wet pavement.

He met a woman.

Eleanor.

She stood by the fountain.

Wet hair.

Pale face.

"Lost?" she asked.

Voice like wind.

"Yes," Silas said.

"I am looking for a watch."

Eleanor smiled.

Sad smile.

"A watch?"

"Yes."

"It is not a watch," she said.

It is a memory.

Silas frowned.

"What do you mean?"

She looked at him.

Deep eyes.

"You are not the first," she said.

"Nor the last."

She turned.

Walked away.

Wet footprints.

Vanished.

Silas followed.

He wanted to know.

His mind raced.

Why did she say that?

Who was she?

He found her in the alley.

She leaned against the wall.

Shivering.

"Who are you?" Silas asked.

"I am Eleanor," she said.

"Who was I?"

"That does not matter."

"It matters to me."

"Does it?"

He reached for her.

She pulled away.

Cold hands.

"Stop," she said.

"You cannot hold it."

"Hold what?"

"The past."

Silas felt a pang.

Strange feeling.

Like déjà vu.

He had been here before.

Hadn’t he?

He shook his head.

"I need to find the owner."

"There is no owner," Eleanor said.

"You are the owner."

Silas laughed.

Nervous laugh.

"Joke."

"It is not a joke."

She looked at the watch in his pocket.

It was still there.

Heavy.

"Look at it," she said.

He took it out.

Opened it.

No numbers.

No hands.

Just a face.

His face.

Younger.

Smiling.

Silas dropped it.

Clatter.

He stared.

"What is this?"

"This is the loop," Eleanor said.

"You have done this before."

"Done what?"

"Come here.

Search.

Fail.

Leave."

Silas felt sick.

Stomach turned.

"No," he said.

"I am different."

"You are the same."

He picked up the watch.

Hands trembling.

"I will break it," he said.

He raised his fist.

Eleanor caught his arm.

Strong grip.

"You cannot break time," she said.

"You can only endure it."

Silas pulled free.

He ran.

Into the night.

Streetlamps blurred.

He ran to the factory.

The old mill.

Closed.

Rusted gates.

He forced them open.

Squeal of metal.

Inside.

Darkness.

Echoes.

He walked deeper.

Machines stood still.

Monsters of iron.

He saw a chair.

Empty.

Dust.

On the chair sat a hat.

His hat.

Older.

Worn.

He touched it.

Soft.

Familiar.

He remembered.

Not clearly.

Fragments.

A train.

A stop.

A watch.

A woman.

Eleanor.

He had done this.

Many times.

He sat down.

On the floor.

Cold concrete.

He held the watch.

It was warm now.

Beating.

Like a heart.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Eleanor appeared.

In the shadows.

"Did you remember?" she asked.

"Yes," Silas whispered.

"Is it true?"

"Everything is true."

"Can I stop it?"

She shook her head.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because you are afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Of ending."

Silas looked at the watch.

The face on it aged.

Growing older.

Dying.

"I don't want to end," he said.

"Everyone ends," Eleanor said.

"But I don't have to."

"Is that not freedom?"

"It is a prison."

She stepped closer.

Her face was clear now.

Kind.

Sad.

"Silas," she said.

"I have waited for you."

"For what?"

"For you to let go."

He looked at her.

Tears in his eyes.

"Why should I?"

"Because you are tired."

He was.

So tired.

Of the train.

Of the search.

Of the fear.

He held the watch tighter.

It burned.

Hot metal.

He screamed.

Silence followed.

The watch was gone.

In his hand was ash.

Black dust.

He blew it away.

Gone.

Eleanor smiled.

"It is done."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"Will I remember?"

"No."

"Will I come back?"

"Perhaps."

She faded.

Into the dark.

Silas stood up.

Legs shaky.

He walked out.

The mill was empty.

No ghosts.

No memories.

Just cold.

He walked to the station.

Train was there.

Steam rising.

He boarded.

Sat down.

Window.

Darkness.

He closed his eyes.

Sleep came.

Dreamless.

Peaceful.

The train moved.

Forward.

Always forward.

Silas opened his eyes.

He was at the station.

Millhaven.

He stepped off.

Boots on gravel.

Click.

He adjusted his hat.

Brass button.

Cold metal.

He held the object.

A pocket watch.

Stopped.

1890.

He was a detective.

Or so he thought.

He walked into Millhaven.

Gray sky.

Smoke from chimneys.

The town smelled of coal and rot.

People looked at him.

Eyes wide.

Fear.

Or recognition?

Silas ignored them.

He went to the inn.

The Gilded Anchor.

Door creaked.

Dust motes.

Darkness.

He lit a match.

Flame flickered.

Room was sparse.

Bed.

Desk.

Mirror.

He placed the watch on the desk.

Click.

It sat there.

Dead.

He needed answers.

Who owned it?

Why was it here?

He went outside.

Streetlamp buzzed.

Wet pavement.

He met a woman.

Eleanor.

She stood by the fountain.

Wet hair.

Pale face.

"Lost?" she asked.

Voice like wind.

"Yes," Silas said.

"I am looking for a watch."

Eleanor smiled.

Sad smile.

"A watch?"

"Yes."

"It is not a watch," she said.

It is a memory.

Silas frowned.

"What do you mean?"

She looked at him.

Deep eyes.

"You are not the first," she said.

"Nor the last."

She turned.

Walked away.

Wet footprints.

Vanished.

Silas followed.

He wanted to know.

His mind raced.

Why did she say that?

Who was she?

He found her in the alley.

She leaned against the wall.

Shivering.

"Who are you?" Silas asked.

"I am Eleanor," she said.

"Who was I?"

"That does not matter."

"It matters to me."

"Does it?"

He reached for her.

She pulled away.

Cold hands.

"Stop," she said.

"You cannot hold it."

"Hold what?"

"The past."

Silas felt a pang.

Strange feeling.

Like déjà vu.

He had been here before.

Hadn’t he?

He shook his head.

"I need to find the owner."

"There is no owner," Eleanor said.

"You are the owner."

Silas laughed.

Nervous laugh.

"Joke."

"It is not a joke."

She looked at the watch in his pocket.

It was still there.

Heavy.

"Look at it," she said.

He took it out.

Opened it.

No numbers.

No hands.

Just a face.

His face.

Younger.

Smiling.

Silas dropped it.

Clatter.

He stared.

"What is this?"

"This is the loop," Eleanor said.

"You have done this before."

"Done what?"

"Come here.

Search.

Fail.

Leave."

Silas felt sick.

Stomach turned.

"No," he said.

"I am different."

"You are the same."

He picked up the watch.

Hands trembling.

"I will break it," he said.

He raised his fist.

Eleanor caught his arm.

Strong grip.

"You cannot break time," she said.

"You can only endure it."

Silas pulled free.

He ran.

Into the night.

Streetlamps blurred.

He ran to the factory.

The old mill.

Closed.

Rusted gates.

He forced them open.

Squeal of metal.

Inside.

Darkness.

Echoes.

He walked deeper.

Machines stood still.

Monsters of iron.

He saw a chair.

Empty.

Dust.

On the chair sat a hat.

His hat.

Older.

Worn.

He touched it.

Soft.

Familiar.

He remembered.

Not clearly.

Fragments.

A train.

A stop.

A watch.

A woman.

Eleanor.

He had done this.

Many times.

He sat down.

On the floor.

Cold concrete.

He held the watch.

It was warm now.

Beating.

Like a heart.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Eleanor appeared.

In the shadows.

"Did you remember?" she asked.

"Yes," Silas whispered.

"Is it true?"

"Everything is true."

"Can I stop it?"

She shook her head.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because you are afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Of ending."

Silas looked at the watch.

The face on it aged.

Growing older.

Dying.

"I don't want to end," he said.

"Everyone ends," Eleanor said.

"But I don't have to."

"Is that not freedom?"

"It is a prison."

She stepped closer.

Her face was clear now.

Kind.

Sad.

"Silas," she said.

"I have waited for you."

"For what?"

"For you to let go."

He looked at her.

Tears in his eyes.

"Why should I?"

"Because you are tired."

He was.

So tired.

Of the train.

Of the search.

Of the fear.

He held the watch tighter.

It burned.

Hot metal.

He screamed.

Silence followed.

The watch was gone.

In his hand was ash.

Black dust.

He blew it away.

Gone.

Eleanor smiled.

"It is done."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"Will I remember?"

"No."

"Will I come back?"

"Perhaps."

She faded.

Into the dark.

Silas stood up.

Legs shaky.

He walked out.

The mill was empty.

No ghosts.

No memories.

Just cold.

He walked to the station.

Train was there.

Steam rising.

He boarded.

Sat down.

Window.

Darkness.

He closed his eyes.

Sleep came.

Dreamless.

Peaceful.

The train moved.

Forward.

Always forward.