“This damn clock, why are they always so difficult when he is around.”

The old haggard clock-maker hunches over a bench.

The man in the dark cloak sits in the corner waiting.

The clock-maker struggles with this piece. He must get it working, it is no longer a matter of payment, but one of pride. He never found a clock that he could not keep running, and he’ll be damned if this one is going to beat him.

The man in the cloak stands and strides over, and just as the last gear drops into place, the clock-maker flips the release and the clock begins ticking again. The cloaked man smiles genuinely at the clock-maker.

“One day, you will not be able to fix it… the parts, maybe… or your skill perhaps,” he said.

The clock-maker smiles as his eyes follow the still grinning man as he walks back to the corner, flips up his hood, retrieves his scythe, and steps through the wall.