The golden threads hummed with quiet contentment.
Marcus stood at the threshold of the clock tower, watching the city breathe. The Watchers had learned. The Source of the Source had been visited. The oneness was complete. Everything was as it should be.
But something was calling him.
It was a whisper at the edges of his awareness, a voice that was familiar and strange. It spoke his name in a language he didn't understand, but somehow recognized. It pulled at him, drawing him toward the clock tower, toward the wall where the messages had always appeared.
Anna noticed his distraction. She arrived at the clock tower one morning, her face pale, her eyes searching.
"Marcus, what's wrong? You've been distant again."
Marcus shook his head slowly. "There's something calling me. Something in
