And we stayed like that for a long time.
The rhythm of the sound of that boy making tea was hypnotic. At some point I turned and watched him going through the motions, and the longer I did, the more wrong it felt. Not because of what he was doing, but because of how perfectly he did it. No hesitation. No variation. The exact same tilt of the teapot, the exact same angle of the spoon, the exact same pause before the cup touched his lips.
A machine.Not a boy performing a task, but a machine running a program.
Mimi was the first to stand up. She walked past Silas and went straight to the little table. Pulled out the empty chair across from the boy and sat down.
All while we watched in silence.
“Reggie?” she said softly.
Pour. Spoon. Sip.
“Reggie, it’s Mimi. We were…I’m told we were friends. Do you…remember me?”
The boy set his cup down. Picked up the teapot. Poured.
“I’m afraid there’s no Reggie at this tea party, darling,” he said, and his voice made every hair on my arms stand up.
It was a boy’s voice, deep, a bit rough but with a sharper, colder edge underneath that feltfake. Unnatural. Like someone had taken a real voice and filed the warmth off it.
The boy said, “But you’re just in time for tea! Sugar?”
“Reggie, please,” Mimi whispered.
“The name is Host Ticktock, darling. Call me Ticktock. Tea?”
He picked up one of the cups on the table that I could have sworn was a round clock just a second ago and poured without waiting for an answer.
The tea was dark, and judging by the way Mimi wrinkledher nose, it smelled off, too. When it hit the cup, it didn’t steam.
Mimi didn’t take it. She just sat there, her hands flat on the table, her chin trembling.
“I tried everything,” Silas said, his voice barely a whisper. “I told him his name. I told him who I was. I told him about…aboutus. About the trials, about what he did, about why the game took him.” He swallowed hard.
“And?” I breathed, as if I didn’t already know the answer.
Silas looked at me, his eyes rimmed red. “He poured me a cup of tea and asked if I wanted sugar.”
March leaned closer, “Tell us exactly what happened.Exactly.”
But that made Silas laugh—a sharp exhale through his nose, joyless.
“I came down here, found him sitting right there, tried talking to him. He responds, but only as the Host. Everything is about the tea and the table and the damned game.” His eyes squeezed shut and my heart skipped a beat. “I tried using magic—both chronobanks, every last minute of Sparetime in them.Nothing. The game’s magic is woven into him. That’s not a costume he’s wearing. It’s…it’sinsidehim.” His hand came up and pressed against his chest.
“But…he’s just a boy,” I said, tears streaming, voice breaking. “He’sReggie.He has to know that…right?”
Then I was standing, seeker in hand, going closer to the table.
“Reggie, you have to know who you are,” I said—demandedit, like I had any right. “You have to know—look at us. We’re the Hands of the Turning Trials. All of us, together. We’re?—”
“Oh, how lovely. Another guest. More tea!” And he grabbed another clock—a clock, not a cup, as the table was full of them—and he began to pour the smelly tea over it like he couldn’t even tell.
My mouth opened but my voice failed me.
The others came, too, all of them. They called his name, told him who he was, whowewere.
We told him over and over again, but he didn’t listen.
