Three weeks had passed since the clocks began ticking again.

Amelia had moved into the apartment above the shop. It wasn't official - no lease, no declarations - but her books lined the window seat, her perfume lingered on the pillow, and her favorite coffee mug now lived beside the sink. Their days were quiet. Their nights were anything but.

But silence isn't always peace.

Sometimes, silence is what two people build to keep from disturbing the ghosts.

Elias stood at the workbench one morning, shoulders tense, sleeves rolled up, the muscles in his back moving under his shirt as he repaired the inner gears of a delicate pocket watch. The golden one. Amelia watched from across the room, her tea untouched, her heart restless.

He hadn't said a word all morning.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked finally.

He didn't look up. "Just working."

"You've been like this for days, Elias."

He said nothing.

Amelia set down her mug. "Is it something I did?"

At that, he turned. His eyes were unreadable - guarded in the way they'd been when she first met him. It felt like a door had been slammed shut without warning.

"It's not you," he said quietly. "It's me."

She crossed the room, careful not to touch him yet. "That's not an answer. It's an excuse."

He exhaled slowly. "You ever have someone? promise forever, and then leave you without even saying goodbye?"

Her stomach twisted.

He continued, eyes on the clock. "Her name was Lenka. We were together for four years. She used to sit right where you're standing."

Amelia said nothing.

"She told me we were building a future. She helped me with the clocks, the books, the shop. Then one day, she left a note and a set of keys on the counter. Didn't answer my calls. Vanished. She married someone else six months later."

The words hung in the air like ash.

Amelia reached for his hand. He let her take it - but he didn't squeeze back.

"I'm not her," she said.

"I know."

"Then why do I feel like you're waiting for me to vanish too?"

He looked down. "Because I am."

Tears burned her eyes before she realized they were coming. "Do you not trust me?"

"I don't trust myself," he said. "Not to survive it if I lose someone again."

She pulled her hand back, stung. "So what - we just keep pretending this is temporary? Like every night we spend tangled together doesn't mean anything? Like I'm just renting space in your bed?"

His jaw flexed. "Don't twist this."

"I'm not twisting anything. I'm just asking you to let me in before you lock me out completely."

The golden clock behind them ticked once. Loud. Sudden. Almost? warning.

Elias's voice dropped. "You wrote a book about time, Amelia. But you still don't understand what it costs."

She stepped closer, trembling now. "Then teach me. Don't shut me out because you're afraid."

The seconds passed like heartbeats between them. Tick. Tick.

Then Elias cupped her face - roughly, tenderly - and kissed her like he was afraid it might be the last time. His mouth was desperate. Bruising. He pushed her back against the wall, his hands in her hair, his breath shaky.

When they broke apart, he whispered, "I want to believe you'll stay."

She held his face in her palms. "Then choose to believe it. Every morning you wake up next to me, every night you reach for me in the dark. Choose me."

His eyes searched hers like a man trying to find his way out of a labyrinth.

Then he nodded, once.

"I'm scared," he confessed.

She kissed him again, slow this time. "So am I. But if you run, we both lose."

They stayed like that, forehead to forehead, while the golden clock ticked again.

And this time - it didn't stop.