When the Zybourne Clock ticked, it didn’t sound loud.

  It sounded final.

  Not like a watch.

  Not like a bell.

  More like a card placed carefully on a table where the game had been waiting a very long time to resume.

  John felt it before he understood it.

  The pawn shop shifted slightly.

  Not in space.

  In moment.

  The air tasted older.

  The clocks on the wall started ticking again, but none of them agreed with each other anymore.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  …tick.

  John looked out the window.

  The street outside had changed.

  Not dramatically.

  Just enough to make his brain hesitate.

  The bus stop sign across the street had a different number.

  A neon diner sign that had always been flickering now glowed bright and steady.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  And a car rolled past that looked like it had driven out of a photograph from the future.

  John blinked.

  “Okay,” he said slowly.

  “That’s new.”

  The old man didn’t seem surprised.

  “Wednesday started.”

  “That’s not a normal Wednesday.”

  “No.”

  John stepped outside.

  The air was cooler now.

  Sharper.

  Like the city had just been freshly printed.

  Across the street a newspaper vending machine rattled and dropped a paper onto the tray without anyone touching it.

  John walked over and picked it up.

  The headline stared back at him.

  UAC ANNOUNCES FIRST MARTIAN GATE TEST

  John frowned.

  “What year is it?”

  The old man stepped out of the shop behind him.

  “Same one it always was.”

  John pointed at the paper.

  “That says 2351.”

  The old man nodded.

  “Wednesday.”

  John rubbed his temples.

  “You’re telling me the clock didn’t just shuffle time.”

  “No.”

  “What then?”

  The old man gestured at the street.

  “It dealt a new table.”

  John watched the city carefully.

  The buildings were still familiar.

  But the details were wrong.

  People walked past wearing strange devices on their wrists.

  A delivery drone hummed overhead.

  And in the distance—

  far beyond the skyline—

  a faint pillar of light rose from somewhere outside the city.

  John followed the beam with his eyes.

  “That looks like a problem.”

  The old man folded his arms.

  “That’s Mars.”

  John turned slowly.

  “You’re serious.”

  “The first gate opens today.”

  John stared at the newspaper again.

  Then he laughed.

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “What?”

  John tapped the headline.

  “This.”

  The old man raised an eyebrow.

  “What about it?”

  John exhaled.

  “I think I know what happens next.”

  The old man waited.

  John looked back toward the pawn shop window.

  Inside, the Zybourne Clock was spinning now.

  Not violently.

  Just steadily.

  Like it had been waiting centuries to finally start moving again.

  John rubbed his face.

  “I’ve heard the opening line before.”

  The old man tilted his head.

  “And?”

  John looked down the street toward the distant column of light.

  “Let’s just say Wednesday gets worse.”

  Behind them, inside the pawn shop—

  the Zybourne Clock ticked again.

  And far beyond Earth, on the red dust of Mars—

  something heard it.

  Something that had been waiting even longer than the clock.

  And when the gate test began…

  the second hand of Wednesday moved.