Olive was fourteen years old and collected maps and paper tickets. She liked clocks best because they promised order in a world of strange coincidences. On a Saturday, she strayed into Archive Street, where the signboard of an antique shop winked. The shop was called Sekunda and smelled of dust, copper and rain. At the bottom of the display case was a pocket watch with frosted glass and a scratch. On the back it had an engraving: Don't overtake the thirteenth, or she will overtake you. She pooled her savings and bought it, even though it seemed impractical. The salesman just shrugged his shoulders when Olive asked about the strange inscription. The watch ticked unevenly, as if chasing an invisible train along a missing rail. On Sunday, she and Max were supposed to do a school project on the history of the town. They decided to start at the former depot, because that's where time sticks to the rails. At thirteen thirteen they were to press the lace, just as the engraving suggested. Maks joked that at most they would get their homework and trouble back. There was something else under the lid: a drawing of a spiral and a date without the year. The depot was empty, with only the birds trying to fake the sirens of the old trams. Dust hung under the roof and rust and oil slept on the tracks. Olive pushed back the lid, heard the thirteenth tick, although it was still twelve fifty. The second flicked like a fish's scales and stretched as if it were rubber. Maks's phone blinked, lost range, and the clock app suddenly turned on thirteen. Graffiti letters scattered on the wall and formed an ad for horse-drawn trams. Somewhere far away the city buzzed, but the hall continued separately, like a pocket of silence. Maks squeezed her sleeve, but in his eyes there was not curiosity but genuine admiration. The air grew cool, smelling of coal and wet wood, like after a storm. The watch trembled, the seconds hand stood up straight and then pointed to thirteen. From the depths of the hall came the clatter of hooves and the creak of non-existent axles. Someone on the other side of the light pronounced Olive's name, unmistakably and out of habit. And then, out of the mist, emerged a boy in a helmet, holding an identical watch to hers.