Four days. That's how long it took to make a part two shops had called impossible.
It sat on my bench, smaller than a grain of rice, and I had cut it by hand.
The Hargreaves watch lay open beside it, waiting.
I put the loupe in and picked the part up with my tweezers.
My breath went slow, the way it does when the work takes over and nothing else is left.
Two shops had told Cleve this part could not be made. My hands didn't care about that.
Declan's voice came anyway, old and cold in my head.
Declan: It's a hobby, Isla. Not a living.
He said that once, in the house, looking at my loupe like it was a toy he didn't understand.
I pushed him out of my head. He didn't get to sit at my bench.
The pivot went into the jewel, and I held my breath while it settled.
Then I touched the balance with one finger, just barely.
It rocked. Once. Twice.
Then the tick started, small and steady, like a heart remembering how to beat.
I sat back, and my eyes were wet. I didn't know when that happened.
The bell over the door went. Cleve came in with two teas and rain on his tweed.
Cleve: I brought the good kind. Is it done?
Isla: Listen.
I set the watch on the bench and pressed the stem.
The chime rang. Clear and low, and it filled the whole shop.
Cleve didn't move. He just stood there with his mouth open.
Cleve: God. That's the sound. That's the exact sound.
He leaned over the watch like he was afraid it would stop again.
Cleve: You made that part. With your hands. In four days.
Cleve: I'm telling everyone who fixed this. Isla, the watchmaker on Gilt Row.
Cleve: Not a shop. Not a company. You.
He said my name like it was the most important part of the watch.
Cleve: My father left me this watch. I thought it was gone for good.
Cleve: Two men told me to throw it out. You're the only one who saw what it was.
My throat got tight. Not from the praise. From being seen.
Then he set something else on the counter. A thick catalog in a paper wrapper.
Cleve: Pryce House preview. They sent it to me. I thought you should have it.
Declan's name was printed on the wrapper. I left it where it was.
I looked at the catalog and felt the old pull. Stupid, how a name on paper can do that.
My skin remembered his shoulder against mine. The soap. The cold.
He never once looked at my work the way Cleve just did.
Fuck him, I said under my breath.
Cleve pretended not to hear. He just stirred his tea and watched the watch tick.
Across town, Declan sat at his desk at Pryce House. A catalog sat in front of him, still in its wrapper.
His phone was in his hand. He turned it over once, then set it down.
He had no reason to call her. That was what he told himself.
Cleve: Open it. Come to the preview. Let them see who you are.
I looked at the wrapped catalog. Declan's name sat on it, cold and neat.
Then I looked at the Hargreaves watch, ticking in my hand.
Isla: Tell them I'll be there.