The Boy Who Hated Sound

The Clockmaker's Secret

The front door of the shop shatters into a million pieces, sending flying wood and broken glass raining down all over the room.

I throw my hands up to protect my face, dropping to the floor as a cloud of thick, gray smoke rolls through the ruined entryway. The hundreds of clocks on the walls stop ticking all at once, replaced by a harsh, mechanical whine that drills straight into my temples.

"Get down!" Chidi shouts, lunging across the room to push me behind Baba Tunde’s heavy oak workbench.

Zainab is already there, pulling her knees up to her chest and coughing from the dust. Through the haze of smoke, tall figures step past the broken door frame. They wear the dark gray coats and silver reel patches of the Syndicate guards. But they are not carrying standard rods this time. Each guard holds a heavy acoustic rifle that sparks with bright blue electricity.

"Kelechi Nnamdi," a cold, robotic voice echoes from the doorway.

The silver-haired woman we saw earlier steps into the shop. Her face is completely blank, and her eyes lock onto me instantly like a targeting system.

Baba Tunde does not cower. The old clockmaker stands tall beside his workbench, his leather apron stiff with age. He reaches into one of his deep pockets and pulls out a small, brass pocket watch, holding it tightly in his palm.

"You have no jurisdiction in the lower junctions," Baba Tunde says, his voice steady and calm despite the weapons pointed at his chest. "This shop is protected by the old city charter."

"The charter was deleted twenty years ago, old man," the woman replies. She takes another step forward, the blue light from her rifle casting harsh shadows across the room. "Just like the boy's family files. Just like the block they lived in. Move aside, or you will be treated as an accomplice to an active memory breach."

"They are not wiping anything else out," I say, my voice shaking as I push myself up from the floor.

Chidi tries to grab the back of my jacket, but I pull away. I look at the vintage tape machine sitting on the workbench. The reels are spinning again, faster this time, putting out a faint, melodic hum that only I seem to hear. It is Adaora’s voice, faint and distant, calling out my name over the static.

"Kelechi, do not be an idiot," Chidi hisses, his face tight with terror. "If you try to use your power in here, the shockwave will bring the whole ceiling down on us."

"They already took her," I say, my heart hammering hard against my ribs. "And they want to take every memory left in Neo-Prague. I am not running anymore."

I reach out and press my bare hand directly against the spinning metal reel of the tape machine.

A sharp bolt of pure energy shoots up my arm. It is not pain; it is a sudden rush of clear, sharp focus that clears away the ringing in my ears. The sound of the city above, the ticking of the clocks, the heavy breathing of my cousin—everything falls silent.

The silver-haired woman raises her rifle, her eyes widening in sudden alarm. "Stop him! He is opening the acoustic seal!"

Before the guards can pull their triggers, I close my eyes and let my mind reach out into the walls of the shop. I remember the exact sound of Adaora’s laugh. I remember the way the floorboards creaked in our old apartment. I channel every bit of grief, every bit of stubborn anger I have carried inside me since our parents vanished, and I push it outward through the machine.

BOOM.

A shockwave of visible air ripples outward from the desk.

The wave hits the guards like a physical wall. The four men in gray coats fly backward, crashing through the broken door frame and out into the subway junction. Even the silver-haired woman stumbles back, her boots sliding across the concrete floor before she regains her balance.

The force of the blast shatters the glass faces of every single clock in the shop. Hundreds of tiny metal springs and gears rain down like metallic snow.

"Now!" Baba Tunde yells over the roaring wind. "Through the back door! Run to the maintenance shaft before they recover!"

Zainab is the first to move, shoving open a small wooden hatch behind the main shelf that leads into pitch-black darkness. Chidi grabs my arm, pulling me away from the desk where the tape machine is now glowing with a blinding white light.

"Move, Kelechi! We have to go!" Chidi shouts.

I take one last look back at the workbench. The tape machine is no longer playing static. The reels have stopped, and a small, handwritten note sits on top of the metal casing, a note in Adaora's exact handwriting that wasn't there a second ago.

Before I can reach out to grab it, a strong hand clamps down hard on my shoulder from behind.

I spin around, expecting a Syndicate guard. Instead, I look straight into the face of a man I thought was dead, our uncle, who disappeared the same night our parents were taken.

"You shouldn't have come down here, Kelechi," my uncle whispers into my ear, pressing the cold barrel of a pistol directly against my ribs.