What Zara Named

Zara Ahmed stepped toward the hour standing upright in the October air, and said, clear as a bell:

“I remember what I named.”

The school bell rang thirteen times. With every stroke the sky over Merrow Hill grew a shade darker, a shade bluer, like ink dropped into water. Across the street, the library’s door stood open. In the doorway, the Keeper’s clock-face was turned toward them, its hands no longer frozen at 11:59.

They were moving. Toward thirteen.