CHAPTER ONE
Faith Muthaka
The air in the library clung to Duncan like a damp shroud.
It was heavy with the smell of old paper and long hours that never seemed to end properly. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, steady and indifferent, as if the room itself refused to acknowledge that time was passing.
Duncan had been there too long.
His body was starting to argue with him. His back ached from the chair. His eyes struggled to keep words stable on the page. Even silence felt dense, as though it had weight.
His father’s watch ticked steadily on his wrist.
It was not loud, but its ticking was so precise; in a way that made it impossible to forget.
Each tick arrived slightly too cleanly in the space between thoughts.
He tried to focus on the assignment in front of him.
But he failed miserably.
A thought slipped through without invitation.
'I’m not stupid'.
Then another followed immediately after.
'These sentences are not staying together properly.'
He blinked, irritated now more than tired.
The watch continued.
Tick after tick. its incessance was getting annoying.
So annoying that at some point, he spoke louder than intended.
“Stay focused,” he muttered.
A few heads turned.
That was the first moment things shifted slightly out of place.
A man stood between the shelves.
The students called him Hagrid.
Not because he resembled any magical creature, but because he carried himself like someone who already had prior knowledge of everyone's destinies.
His gaze landed on Duncan without hesitation.
And for a moment, there was a sense that the room had narrowed its attention.
Duncan felt it immediately.
The man only cleared his throat.
“Ahem.”
That was all.
No follow-up. No reaction. Just a stopping of momentum, as if the conversation had already ended before it began.
Duncan sank back into his seat.
Heat crept up his neck.
Duncan didn’t know why that bothered him more than being shouted at would have.
He could feel himself shrinking into the chair, trying to become less noticeable.
It did not work.
He tried again to focus on the page.
Failed again.
He left the library later than he meant to, flustered after his outburst.
The air outside felt colder. Less suffocating, but sharper in a way that made him more aware of himself.
His hood went up without him thinking about it.
He walked faster than necessary.
This is the part where patterns usually begin, though Duncan doesn’t recognize them yet.
As he hurried away, Hagrid’s voice, calm and commanding, cut through Duncan's scattered thoughts:
“Duncan. A moment, if you will.”
Duncan hesitated, then turned to see Hagrid leaning casually against a lamppost outside the library, his arms folded over his chest. The older man’s demeanor was calm, but there was an edge of something else there; curiosity, maybe. The unnerving kind.
It was unlike him to call anyone over. He was the sort of man who preferred to grumble about a problem than confront it head-on. The fact that he wanted to talk at all was unsettling.
Duncan approached slowly, his hands instinctively letting go of the strings on his backpack's straps.
His fingers began fidgeting with his dad’s tattered old watch as he approached the old man, and Hagrid’s gaze dropped to it almost immediately.
Then he reached out, resting a heavy hand on Duncan’s shoulder.
“Nice piece,” he said, his voice softer than Duncan, or any other student, for that matter, had ever heard.
Duncan blinked, caught off guard. Since when did he indulge in pleasantries?
“Uh—thanks. It’s my dad’s.”
Hagrid nodded once, his grip tightening just a fraction. Then he leaned forward, close enough to look scaringly deliberate.
"You feeling okay, son?"
Duncan’s jaw tightened. He shifted under the weight of Hagrid’s hand.
“I'm fine...just need some rest.”
“hmm.” Hagrid smirked faintly, as though doubtful of the boy's seemingly rehearsed answer.
Duncan took a step back, shrugging the hand off his shoulder, before turning as if to leave.
“Duncan?”
He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
Hagrid had already straightened, his usual gruff demeanor slipping neatly back into place. His voice was lighter now, almost teasing.
“I hope you figure it out soon.”
Duncan tugged his hood low as he spotted the group headed in his direction, towards the campus cafeteria, seemingly from a night out clubbing.
You could tell by the half-empty bottles being passed between their drunken hands. Partygoers. Loud, chaotic, and the last thing he wanted to deal with on such a night.
He quickened his pace, muttering to himself.
“Just keep walking. Don’t look. Don’t engage...”
A sharp burst of laughter cut through the air, and Duncan winced.
The sound seemed to follow him, sharper and closer than it should’ve been. His mind was still reeling from his weird interaction with Hagrid earlier...either that or the embarrasment he still felt from his slip-up in the library.
Duncan’s fingers twitched.
He didn’t see her until it was too late.
“Oof!”
A girl in heels and a short glittering gown collided with his shoulder, nearly dropping the liquor bottle in her hand.
“Watch it!” she slurred, stumbling back into her giggling friends.
Duncan muttered a quick apology and stepped aside to avoid the group.
But as he did, a tall guy emerged from the shadows behind them, cutting off his path.
At first, Duncan was sure the guy was sober.
His gaze was sharp, and he had this weird calculating smirk on his face.
But then he stumbled forward with an exaggerated sway, almost as if he were pretending; playing drunk.
“Well, well,” the guy shouted, throwing an arm over Duncan’s shoulder. His breath hit Duncan like a wrecking ball, reeking of stale onion and alcohol.
“Did you trip poor Kelly?” the guy continued, shaking his head in mock disappointment.
“I didn’t—” Duncan started, but the guy cut him off with a fake, condescending laugh.
“I know your kind. You're a...” He paused, tilting his head as if searching for the right word. “...weirdo, a nutcase”
Duncan stiffened.
There was something familiar about the bully-his voice, the way he moved.
How he made poor Duncan feel...worthless.
But Duncan couldn’t quite figure out who this stranger was, or why he seemed so familiar.
“You’ve got that look. All twitchy and tense,” the bully mocked.
“Shut up,” Duncan snapped, trying to defend himself.
He'd had a long day.
The stranger just laughed, his eyes oddly dark.
“What? You think people don’t see it? Aren't you the weird kid who talks to himself?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
How did he know?
The guy leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“You’re a lunatic! Someone's in here..." he continued, raising his right hand index and middle fingers to condescendingly tap at Duncan's temple, "...yanking your leash.”
Duncan’s vision blurred. Anger surged through him, hot and uncontrollable. He made a fist and raised it. For a moment, everything narrowed to a single point of impulse.
Then it stopped. Mid-motion. His arm froze. Breath caught in his throat.
The man didn’t step back.
He simply observed him.
Like this was expected.
Duncan took a step away, shaken.
“What the hell is wrong with me…”
The man turned slightly as if losing interest.
“Nothing,” he said. “That’s usually the problem.”
He walked away.
Just before disappearing into the movement of the crowd, he added:
“See you around, Timekeeper.”
Duncan stood still.
The word didn’t land properly.
But it stayed anyway.
He looked down at his watch.
Fifteen minutes.
His dorm was fifteen minutes away.