Chapter 2 - The Timepiece of the Dead
The police officer tugged at the boy's collar, irritation flaring in his voice. "Come on, kid. We're waiting for Child Services in the back office. Don't cause a scene in front of the patrons."
The boy ignored the officer completely. Tears cut clear, pale rivers through the dirt caked onto his hollow cheeks as his chest heaved with quiet, frantic sobs. He took an unsteady step toward Edward's table, pointing a small, dirt-caked finger at the old man's wrist.
"Sir..." the boy choked out, his raspy voice trembling violently above the soft ambient jazz playing overhead. "Sir, you have a watch just like my dad's."
A collective, uncomfortable silence fell over the surrounding tables. Guests turned away, embarrassed by the raw, unwashed tragedy invading their private sanctuary. But Edward didn't turn away.
Slowly, as if moving through deep water, Edward lowered his wine glass to the white linen. His gaze drifted down to his left wrist, where a rare, vintage gold chronograph rested against his crisp white shirt cuff. The watch was a masterpiece of horology—a solid 18-karat gold casing with a custom-engraved geometric pattern along its bevel, catching the warm overhead light with a dull, heavy gleam. It was not a mass-produced piece of luxury; it was a one-of-a-kind prototype manufactured three decades ago. A prototype Edward had designed himself alongside his brilliant, former business partner.
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Edward's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. The blood drained entirely from his face, leaving his weathered skin looking like pale parchment. He slowly tilted his head up, his piercing blue eyes locking onto the weeping child standing before him.
"Wait..." Edward breathed, his voice barely a rasp as his breath hitched in his throat. "Was your father named Daniel?"
