The silver pocket watch in Leo’s hand didn’t just tell time; it owned it. As the 8:15 express roared toward the city, Leo clicked the crown. The world didn't just stop; it
Elias reached into his pocket and pulled out a permanent marker. With the delicate touch of a calligrapher, he drew a thin, elegant mustache on the man’s upper lip, and then, for good measure, added a mono-brow. It was petty, certainly, but the anticipation of the man’s reflection in the elevator mirror made Elias chuckle—a strange, muffled sound in the silence.
He stepped back to admire the work. She looked like a woman who had lost a fight with a wind tunnel and a glitter factory. It was perfect.
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