A Stolen Cadence

That monotonous pendulum above kept tolling as if it owned the night, so I decided to offer a small revision. Crouching in the heavy shadow beside the grandfather clock's carved plinth, I wedged the tiny brass watch gear upright between two grooved seams in the polished oak. I pressed the tip of one darkened finger against its jagged teeth, waiting for the heavy floorboards to shudder with the clock's next descent. When the ancient strike thrummed through the timber, my little gear rattled in sharp, sympathetic defiance—a crisp, clandestine counter-beat. Let the old giant keep the hours, darling; I now govern the seconds.