He could still taste her on his lips when he realized that every clock in the shop had stopped. 20:59. Pendulums hung mid-swing, and second hands stood poised like knives. Elias’s breath came in ragged bursts. His shirt was half-untucked, and his knuckles clutched the counter until they turned white. He felt oddly separate from his own body, as if the wanting hadn’t been his idea at all. Marisol slipped the antique watch...