Part 8: A Strange Shift in Du Hao’s Behavior

The door creaked open, and Du Hao stepped inside the workshop, sunlight outlining his figure. He looked almost the same: messy hair, worn leather jacket, the usual mischievous gleam in his eye. And yet… something was wrong.

Too smooth. Too prepared.

His smile wasn’t crooked like it used to be—it was calculated, as if it had been practiced in a mirror. His movements, too, were different: slower, more deliberate, like a machine that had been carefully wound to appear human.

“Morning, Lyn,” he said, voice warm, but with an edge she couldn't place. “You slept late. Busy dreaming about clocks?”

She smiled weakly. “Maybe. Or maybe dreaming about fixing them.”

He chuckled, but it sounded rehearsed, like someone imitating an old memory. He crossed the room and leaned against her father’s workbench, fingers idly tracing the cracked wood. His hands, too, looked… different. They were unscarred, clean, almost too perfect for someone who used to have calloused palms from years of repairs and tinkering.

“Your father’s out at the market,” Du Hao said casually. “He’ll be back in an hour. He sent me to keep you company.”

Something tightened in Lyn’s chest. The real Du Hao would never have said something like that. He hated being anyone’s chaperone.

She scanned his face again—same brown eyes, same familiar voice—but it was like looking at a portrait instead of a person. Flawless. Controlled. Wrong.

“What did you do this morning?” she asked, her voice light.

“Same as always,” Du Hao replied smoothly. “Fixed a few gears. Walked around the square. Bought some bread.”

“What square?” she pressed, her heart beginning to race. “The market square or the craftsman’s alley?”

He hesitated. Just a flicker—but Lyn saw it. The smallest glitch in his mask.

“The market, of course,” he answered too quickly. “Like always.”

But Lyn remembered: in this town, the market square had burned down three years ago. It didn’t exist anymore.

This wasn’t Du Hao.

Or at least, not the Du Hao she knew.

Keeping her face neutral, she turned back to the bench, pretending to examine an old pocket watch. Inside her mind, gears spun furiously.

Had the passage through the Keeper’s hourglass altered more than just time? Had it rewritten people, too?

Or worse—

Had something followed her back?

Du Hao’s voice cut through her thoughts. “I was thinking… maybe we could visit the old clocktower later. For old times’ sake.”

She froze.

Because in their real history, Du Hao hated the clocktower. He’d never once suggested visiting it. He said it made him feel watched.

Lyn forced a smile and nodded.

“Sounds perfect.”

Inside, her instincts screamed.

Outside, a shadow moved along the workshop windows, silent and unnoticed. Watching.

Waiting.

To be continued…