The world Ezra knew was one bound by the ticking of an invisible clock. Everyone had it—the mark that told you when your life would end. A small, pulsing timer tattooed on the wrist, invisible to the eye unless you looked closely. A gentle glow, a constant reminder of your finite existence. For most people, it was a comfort, a guidepost that kept them tethered to their responsibilities and purpose.
Except Ezra's had disappeared.
It happened the moment he woke up that morning, stretching his arms as he emerged from the fog of sleep. A strange sensation lingered on his wrist, the spot where his timer should have been. His heart skipped a beat. The familiar thrum of it, the gentle pulse that dictated his every step, was gone. In its place was bare, unmarked skin.
He stared at it for what felt like an eternity, his pulse racing in his chest, his mind struggling to process what was happening. No one ever talked about it, but it was understood. The timer—however mysterious it was—was part of life. Everyone had one, and it never disappeared. It never just... vanished.
For a moment, Ezra thought he was imagining it. But no. He rubbed his wrist. His breath hitched. There was nothing. No timer. No glow.
Panic flared inside him.
Had he forgotten to recharge it overnight? Was there some mistake with the system? No. That didn't make sense. The timers were built into everyone at birth. They were part of the human experience, woven into the fabric of existence. It wasn't something that could malfunction, not on a personal level.
He stood up from his bed and hurriedly walked to the mirror. His face was drawn and pale, his dark hair unkempt from sleep. He hadn't slept well the night before—too many thoughts, too many questions. His eyes flicked to his wrist again, still bare.
Was it possible?
He reached for his phone, fumbling with it in his panic. The screen blinked to life, and his eyes immediately went to the date and time. The moment his phone lit up, the familiar numbers popped up, but something was different. His own timer—his internal clock—had disappeared, but so had the timer of every other person around him. They were all blank. Gone.
Every single person's timer. Gone.
Confusion swirled in his mind. What could this mean? The system, this unseen force that dictated everyone's life, was suddenly... broken?
He rushed out of his room, barely taking the time to dress himself properly. He needed answers. His mind was clouded with panic, but he pushed it aside, focusing on what mattered: finding out why his timer was gone, and why the world seemed to have changed overnight.
As he rushed down the street to his school, the usual hum of the morning bustle seemed eerily quiet. People moved through the streets, their faces blank, as though they too had noticed something was amiss. But no one was saying anything. Everyone was just... going on.
His steps faltered when he saw Mr. Thompson, the janitor, sweeping the pavement outside the school gates. The old man was hunched over as usual, his gray hair falling into his face. But it wasn't his appearance that caught Ezra's attention. It was the absence of the glow—the absence of the timer. Mr. Thompson's wrist was completely bare, just like Ezra's. He shouldn't have been able to function without one. No one could.
Ezra's breath caught in his throat. The old janitor had no timer.
As Ezra got closer, Mr. Thompson looked up, his expression unreadable. The man's eyes, a dull gray, locked onto Ezra's, and for the briefest moment, there was something unsettling in his gaze—something knowing.
Before Ezra could say anything, Mr. Thompson returned to his sweeping, as if the encounter had never happened.
Confusion piled on top of confusion. This couldn't be happening.
The bell rang, signaling the start of school, and Ezra rushed inside, his mind whirling. It was all too much. How could the timers disappear without anyone noticing? What was happening to the world?
He couldn't shake the feeling that something dark was lurking just beneath the surface. Something far bigger than himself, something he wasn't meant to see. But now, he had no choice but to dive in.
As he sat in his first class, the teacher's voice was a distant murmur in the background. His eyes flicked from person to person—each one moving, each one unaware of the missing timers on their wrists.
The absence felt like a weight on his chest.
And then there was Mia.
She was sitting in the front row, scribbling notes into her notebook as she always did. Mia was quiet, the kind of person who blended into the background, unnoticed by most of the class. But Ezra had always found something intriguing about her. Today, he found himself watching her a little more intently than usual.
Her wrist, too, was bare.
Her timer was gone.
Was it possible? Was she going through the same thing he was?
He watched her for a moment longer before she suddenly turned and caught his gaze. Her eyes—wide, intelligent—studied him for a brief moment. A strange sense of recognition flickered in her gaze. Then, just as quickly, her eyes dropped back to her notebook, and she continued writing as though nothing had changed.
But Ezra felt it. The connection.
His heart skipped a beat. There was something about her, something different. She had to know. He had to know.
After class, when everyone filtered out into the halls, Ezra approached her hesitantly. He didn't know what to say, how to start. How do you ask someone if their timer has disappeared without sounding like you've lost your mind?
But Mia beat him to it.
"You saw it too, didn't you?" she asked quietly, glancing around to make sure no one else was nearby.
Ezra froze. He nodded slowly, his mouth dry. "What does it mean?"
Mia's face grew serious. "I don't know. But I've been seeing things. I think we're being watched, Ezra. We have to find out what's going on. Before it's too late."
The weight in his chest grew heavier, but he nodded, determined. Whatever was happening—whatever was causing the timers to disappear—it was bigger than both of them. And they had no choice but to unravel it.