Ticking Chrome

I dropped down from the entryway bench and navigated across the tile into the kitchen, drawn toward a round chrome egg timer parked beside the wooden knife block. It looked like a miniature brushed-metal fortress stamped with black minute marks. I braced my boots against the smooth granite, gripped the upper dial with both hands, and put my shoulders into a firm twist. Six hefty clicks later, the internal spring held its tension. The instant I stepped back, a crisp, rhythmic rattle kicked off inside the housing, ticking with the relentless pulse of a pocket engine. I leaned close to track the tiny vibrations humming through the steel shell until a sharp bell chimed. Flawless mechanics.