The giant clock above the brass city corrected itself with a wounded clang.
Its face shuddered from nine seconds to twelve minutes, as if even the clock had realised it was being dramatic and needed better pacing.
CLANG. The hands spun. Every roof-clock copied it. Twelve minutes glowed across the city in pale green numbers.
Jayden pointed at the sky. "Excellent. We have been given extra time by the haunted calculator gods. Producers, this is character development."
"Nobody is producing you," said Mr Tafadar, though he was standing with one arm out like a supply teacher trying to stop a stampede at lunchtime.
Orla grabbed Holly's sleeve. "Please tell me twelve minutes is loads in maths terms."
"Depends if it's an exam or waiting for chips," Holly said, but her mouth felt dry.
The Miscalculation bowed on a nearby gear-bridge, its goblin body twitching with wrong answers. "Correction Day appreciates punctuality."
"Correction Day can appreciate my complaint email," said Bea.
Above them, the giant clock face flickered. Brass numbers peeled away, revealing a screen of foggy glass. Static crackled, then a face appeared.
Holly stopped breathing.
It was her. Older. Maybe sixteen. Maybe seventeen. One eye purple with bruising. Hair chopped short and messy. A split lip. She was in a narrow room lit by red clocklight, breathing like she had run for miles.
"Nope," Reece said. "That is too much Holly. One Holly already gives Orla ideas."
Future Holly pressed both palms to the glass. "Listen to me. If you're seeing this, the city has started the public broadcast. That means it wants witnesses."
Holly's knees wobbled. Orla's hand found hers and squeezed hard.
Mr Tafadar stepped forward. "Holly, do not engage with possible time-based manipulation without adult supervision."
"Sir," said Sana, "with respect, the adult supervision has also fallen into a clock sewer."
Future Holly looked straight at present Holly. "Correction Day isn't fixing mistakes."
Correction Day erases the people who remember them.
The city went quiet. Even the gears seemed to hold their breath.
Lacey, one of the mean girls, folded her arms, but her voice came out thin. "Erases like unfollows? Or erases like... erases?"
"Like there was never a laugh, never a seat beside you, never a name on the register," Future Holly said. "They start with anyone who remembers the first wrong sum."
Arun whispered, "That's us."
"Technically," Milo said, "that's a horrifyingly inclusive group project."
Don't cry in front of everyone, Holly told herself, which was annoying because telling herself that made her eyes sting immediately.
⁂
The broadcast juddered. Future Holly bent down, as if hearing footsteps. When she straightened, she held up a key made of pale bone. Its teeth were shaped like tiny numbers.
"This opens the Memory Lock beneath the city hall," she said. "Do not let the Miscalculation touch it. Do not let the clock hear you say her name."
"Whose name?" Holly said.
Future Holly leaned close to the glass. Her voice became a tiny thread.
"Maia Finch."
Holly's whole chest seemed to drop through the brass platform.
Her mum.
The name she had not said aloud at school for years because teachers got soft voices and classmates got weird faces and Dad got quiet in the kitchen.
The Miscalculation's smile stretched too wide. "Oh, Holly. You remembered."
"Back away from her," Orla snapped, stepping in front of Holly despite being roughly as intimidating as a furious breadstick.
Future Holly slammed something off-screen. "Orla, if you're there, I'm sorry about the hamster thing."
Orla blinked. "What hamster thing?"
"Future spoilers," Jayden said. "Reality show rules. We need a confessional sofa immediately."
The glass split with a bright crack. The bone key shot out of the clock face, spinning end over end. Holly caught it without meaning to.
It was warm.
Every bell in the city began screaming.
Numbers burst across the towers: MEMORY DETECTED.
Mr Tafadar grabbed his whistle, then seemed to remember this was not PE and blew it anyway. "Class, move! Calmly! With purpose! Reece, stop trying to dab at the apocalypse!"
The Miscalculation dropped to all fours and charged.
Holly clutched the key. Orla pulled her towards a stairway made of ticking rulers. The nice girls, Sana and Priya, shoved a rolling gear into the goblin's path. It tripped, flipped, and landed in a fountain shaped like a calculator.
"Ten out of ten," said Jayden. "No notes."
Then the countdown changed.
Not twelve minutes.
Eleven.
Ten.
Nine.
The giant clock began skipping.
Future Holly's broken image flashed once more. "Holly, one more thing. The first person erased is—"
The screen went black.
Beside Holly, Orla frowned at their joined hands.
"Sorry," Orla said slowly. "Do I... know you?"
