On the fourth night, a storm knocked out the power. In the absolute dark of the shop, Elias felt his way to the counter. He picked up the smart-watch. It was cold and light, lacking the reassuring weight of a grandfather clock's weights. But as he turned it over, he saw a small inscription etched into the back of the metal casing: Keep moving, Maya. Love, Grandpa.

Elias looked at the plastic casing and the tangled circuitry beneath the glass. He felt himself the sight of it. To him, a machine that could be "obsolete" in three years wasn't a timepiece; it was a distraction. He prided himself on mechanisms that could outlive their owners if given proper care.

"I don't do electronics," Elias said, his voice as dry as old parchment. "I restore things that have a soul."

For three days, Elias ignored the device. He found himself the flashing red "Low Battery" light that occasionally blinked like a dying eye. He hated the way it sat among his brass pendulums and steel escapements, looking like a piece of space debris.