The watch was not an heirloom, nor was it a luxury. It arrived in a plain cardboard box with a single string of characters etched into the back of the casing: 1590077185z3xnr.
Elias, a man who lived his life by the steady tick of a metronome, found the device at a roadside estate sale. The seller, a woman with eyes like clouded glass, hadn't asked for money. She had simply handed it to him and said, "It keeps the only time that matters."
One afternoon, while standing on the edge of a frozen pier, the watch didn't just pulse; it shrieked. The metal grew searing hot. Elias clawed at the strap, but it had fused to his skin. The scrolling code 1590077185z3xnr began to countdown.