By the second week, his wrinkles smoothed into the skin of a forty-year-old. By the third, he was back in his twenties, vibrating with an energy he hadn't felt in decades. He went for runs; he stayed up until dawn; he felt invincible.

That night, Arthur slotted the key into the air—not into a lock, but into the empty space beside his bedside lamp. He felt a mechanical click in the atmosphere. He turned it counter-clockwise.

“Go to the clockmaker on 4th Street. Ask for the 'Unwound Key.' Turn it backward once every night.”