Julian found the pocketwatch in a shoebox at the top of the closet, under a baby picture and a lonely button that didn’t match anything.

The watch wasn’t shiny. It looked tired, like it had been carried through a thousand pockets. On the back, someone had scratched two letters: **J.B.**

Julian ran his thumb over them. "Is this… mine?"

From downstairs, Dad called, "If it’s in the family box, it’s family. Bring it down—carefully!"

Julian carried it like a ladybug he didn’t want to squish. The hands pointed to numbers, but they also seemed to point to *elsewhere*. When he clicked the latch, the lid popped open with a soft *ping!*

Inside was a tiny folded paper.

**When you miss us, wind once. When you need us, wind twice. Don’t be greedy.**

Julian swallowed. "That’s… not a normal note."

Dad leaned in, eyebrows lifting. "Great-Grandpa Benton was a watchmaker. Family stories say he could ‘fix time’ the way other people fix bikes." He chuckled like it was just a joke.

Julian didn’t laugh. The watch felt warm now, like it had been waiting.

That night, he lay in bed staring at the ceiling. He wondered what Grandpa Benton’s voice sounded like. He wondered if Grandma Mabel had laughed with her whole face.

Julian held the pocketwatch in both hands.

"I just want to meet you," he whispered.

He wound it once.

The air hummed. His blanket rippled as if someone had shaken the whole room like a snow globe. The clock on his wall blurred into a spinning gray circle.

Julian squeezed his eyes shut.

When he opened them, his bed was gone.

He was standing in a small workshop that smelled like lemon oil and metal. Shelves held jars of screws. A tall window showed a street outside—no cars, just a horse tied to a post and a boy rolling a hoop with a stick.