Twenty Minutes to Midnight

It was twenty minutes to midnight when Elara finally realized she’d been followed. The night had wrapped itself around the city, cloaking narrow streets in velvet shadows, and somewhere in those shadows, footsteps echoed hers.

She quickened her pace, clutching the small, worn leather journal closer to her chest. The journal smelled faintly of cedar and old ink — it had been her father’s, and now it was the only thing that might save her.

Elara ducked into an alley, heart pounding. The footsteps grew louder, then stopped. Silence spread across the cobblestones like spilled oil. Holding her breath, she listened — and waited.

She could feel time slipping through her fingers. In exactly twenty minutes, the bell of St. Vesper’s would strike midnight. And if she didn’t reach the old observatory by then, everything her father had hidden would remain buried forever.

She peered around the corner. Empty street. Only the restless flicker of a dying gas lamp. Elara ran. Her boots slapped against the stones, each step pushing her closer to the edge of panic.

Fifteen minutes to midnight.

The journal’s last page held a message, scrawled in her father’s shaky hand: “At midnight, the truth will appear in the glass.” She hadn’t known what it meant until the letter arrived that morning — an unsigned note, written in the same ink: “Find the truth before they do.”

And now they were coming. Whoever they were.

Elara reached the bridge that led to the observatory, its ancient arches covered in ivy. Her lungs burned; sweat trickled down her neck despite the cool night air. She hesitated for a moment, staring at the crumbling stone building silhouetted against the starless sky.

Thirteen minutes to midnight.

As she crossed the bridge, the footsteps returned, louder this time. She dared a glance over her shoulder — and saw him. A man in a dark coat, face hidden by the brim of his hat, moving steadily after her.

Fear twisted in her stomach, but she forced herself forward, pushing open the heavy iron gate that groaned in protest. The observatory loomed before her, windows shattered and door half off its hinges.

Inside, the air smelled of damp and dust. Moonlight streamed through broken glass, tracing silver patterns across the floor. The great telescope, though rusted, still pointed skyward — as if it, too, was waiting.

Ten minutes to midnight.

Elara opened the journal, flipping through brittle pages. Notes about stars, planetary alignments, coded diagrams she never understood. And on the last page, those words again: “At midnight, the truth will appear in the glass.”

She turned to the telescope, her father’s words echoing in her mind. The glass. The telescope’s lens. That had to be it.

But as she stepped closer, the man in the dark coat entered the observatory, his footsteps soft on the dusty floor. “Don’t move,” he ordered. His voice was calm, almost gentle, but something in it made her skin prickle.

“What do you want?” she demanded, backing toward the telescope.

“The same thing you do,” he said, taking another step forward. “The truth your father hid. Hand me the journal.”

Elara tightened her grip on it. “No.”

Seven minutes to midnight.

The man sighed. “You don’t know what’s at stake, do you? Your father was part of something much larger than you imagine.”

“What do you mean?” she whispered.

“Your father discovered something. Proof of what really happened twenty years ago — the accident at the Vesper Collider. They said it was an explosion, but it was something else. Something… dangerous.”

Elara felt her heart stutter. Her father had never spoken of that day, except to say he’d made mistakes he could never undo.

Five minutes to midnight.

“He left the proof somewhere,” the man continued, eyes locked on hers. “In this observatory, perhaps. Give me the journal, and no one has to get hurt.”

Elara shook her head. “No. My father died trying to keep this secret from people like you.”

Three minutes to midnight.

The man moved suddenly, grabbing her wrist. They struggled, the journal slipping from her grasp and falling to the ground. The sound echoed through the empty chamber like a gunshot.

Elara broke free, stumbling toward the telescope. She pressed her eye to the lens, heart pounding in her throat.

At first, she saw nothing. Only the cracked lens and the black sky beyond.

One minute to midnight.

Then, the bell of St. Vesper’s began to toll.

With each resonant strike, faint letters shimmered into view on the glass — words written in her father’s hand, only visible under the right alignment of moonlight and midnight:

“The truth is in the collider archives. Room 12B. Trust no one.”

The man saw the change in her face and lunged, but Elara stepped back, clutching the words in her memory.

The bell tolled its twelfth chime. Midnight.

In the silence that followed, Elara turned to face her pursuer, determination hardening her fear. “It’s too late,” she said softly. “I know where to go now.”

And before he could react, she ran — out of the observatory, across the bridge, into the night.

She didn’t know what she’d find in Room 12B. But her father had given her a path, and the truth — whatever it cost — was now hers to chase.

The city clock ticked on, but for Elara, it had just begun.