Alex did it!

The clock had been ticking for hours.

The sitting room was quiet, except for the steady tick, tick, tick coming from the brass contraption perched on the coffee table.

“That’s normal,” Victoria said, sitting cross-legged on the rug. “That’s what clocks do.”

“This isn’t normal,” Emily countered, her dark brows knitting together as she pointed at the ornate timepiece. “It’s ticking louder. And faster.”

She was right. The clock wasn’t just ticking—it was throbbing, its hands spinning wildly in opposite directions, as if it were panicking.

“I don’t think clocks are supposed to do that,” Tom said, leaning in for a closer look. His golden-blonde hair caught the afternoon light, making him look far too innocent for someone likely to make the situation worse.

“Don’t touch it!” Victoria snapped, swatting his hand away.

“I wasn’t going to touch it,” Tom said defensively, rubbing his hand. “I was just... observing.”

Alex sighed, leaning against the armrest of the couch, arms crossed. His light-blonde hair looked even paler against the shadowed room, and his grey eyes flicked between the clock and the others, unimpressed. “Why do we even have this thing?”

“It was a gift,” Victoria muttered, shifting uneasily.

“From who?” Tom asked.

Victoria hesitated. “A... mysterious old woman.”

Tom burst out laughing. “Oh, of course. Because accepting mysterious gifts never ends badly.”

Emily tilted her head, her dark eyes locked on the clock. “What happens when it reaches midday?”

The room fell silent.

“It’s not actually going to reach midday,” Victoria said firmly. “It’s spinning too fast. It’s already gone past midday like ten times.”

“What if it’s building up to something?” Tom asked, his grin widening. “Like an explosion. Or summoning a portal to another dimension.”

Victoria shot him a look. “Do you ever say helpful things?”

“Rarely,” Alex muttered.

The clock let out a sudden clang, its brass casing rattling ominously.

“Okay, I think it’s trying to do something,” Emily said, taking a cautious step back.

“Great observation,” Victoria said dryly. “Any ideas on how to stop it?”

“Hit it,” Tom suggested.

“No!” Emily and Victoria shouted in unison.

“Why not?” Tom asked. “It’s spinning out of control. One good whack might knock it back to normal.”

“Or break it entirely,” Emily pointed out.

Alex sighed and pushed himself off the couch. “Let’s just put it outside. If it explodes, it won’t take us with it.”

“Good plan,” Victoria said, reaching for the clock.

The moment her hands touched it, the clock froze.

The hands stopped spinning. The ticking ceased. The whole room fell eerily silent.

Everyone stared.

“Well,” Tom said, breaking the quiet. “Guess you fixed it.”

Victoria didn’t move. “It’s... glowing.”

Sure enough, a faint golden light was emanating from the clock’s face.

“Okay, that’s creepy,” Emily said, stepping back.

Victoria set the clock back on the table, her hands trembling slightly.

The clock suddenly let out a high-pitched chime, and the golden glow intensified.

Then—

BOOM.

The clock exploded.

Not just a polite pop or a dramatic bang. No, this was an everything-goes-flying, walls-rattle, everyone-screams level explosion.

Cogs, springs, and shards of brass erupted in all directions. A gear whizzed past Alex’s ear. A rogue spring bounced off Tom’s forehead before launching itself into the curtains. Victoria yelped as a wheel of tiny, whizzing parts pinged off the coffee table and ricocheted into a shelf.

A plume of golden dust shot into the air, coating everything.

The kids coughed and waved at the settling debris, emerging from the wreckage like survivors of an ill-advised science experiment.

Emily squinted through the mess. “Well. That’s new.”

Tom blinked, rubbing soot off his cheek. “I told you it was building up to something.”

“You also said it might summon a portal,” Victoria snapped. “I don’t see a portal.”

Tom peered around the dust-filled room. “Maybe it’s invisible.”

Before Victoria could throttle him, the front door creaked open.

Footsteps.

Heavy, deliberate footsteps.

Then—

A very, very familiar voice.

“Why,” Lord Sitka’s voice echoed through the house, low and dangerous, “does it smell like burnt metal and poor decisions in here?”

The kids froze.

Victoria’s cat-like eyes widened. Emily clapped a hand over her mouth. Alex ran a hand through his dusty hair and muttered, “Oh no.”

“Okay,” Tom said, frantically sweeping clock fragments under the rug with his foot. “Nobody panic, we just need a story. Something believable. Something clever—”

Lord Sitka stepped into the room.

His piercing gaze swept across the wreckage—the dust still swirling in the air, the coffee table now scorched, Victoria still holding half a clock hand like a defeated knight.

Lord Sitka’s eyebrow twitched.

“…Explain.”

Silence.

Then, with the smooth confidence of someone who had absolutely no plan whatsoever, Tom pointed at the nearest possible scapegoat.

“…Alex did it.”

“OI!”