Holly had never hated a question more than Orla’s quiet, confused one.
The bells of the clockwork city screamed above them while Orla stared at Holly as if she was a stranger who had grabbed her hand in a fire drill. Holly wanted to say, It’s me, you doughnut, but the bone key burned in her fist and the Miscalculation was already crawling out of the calculator fountain, dripping black numbers.
"Friendship crisis later," Mr Tafadar said, steering them down the ruler-stairs. "Survive first, emotional literacy second."
"Sir, that’s actually quite inspiring," said Priya.
"Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation."
Reece, Jayden and Malik thundered after them, trying to look heroic and failing because Jayden was still narrating. "Previously on Year Nine Maths: Holly’s mum is a secret key legend, Orla’s memory has left the group chat, and I personally carried the vibes."
"You carried a stapler," Sana said.
"A tactical stapler."
⁂
The stairway spat them out beneath Tickford Station, where the real town and the clockwork city seemed stitched together badly. Pipes crossed over train posters. Brass beetles skittered under a vending machine. A rusted basement door stood at the end of the platform, marked with a faded sign: LOST PROPERTY AND OTHER THINGS.
The bone key tugged Holly towards it.
"That door is under city hall," said Jasper Bell, one of the nerds, pushing his glasses up with trembling dignity. "Spatially impossible."
"Mate, we got chased by an algebra goblin," Malik said. "Update your standards."
Behind them, the Miscalculation’s claws scraped metal. The mean girls, Tamsin and Bea, arrived last, pale and furious.
"If I get erased," Bea snapped, "I’m blaming Holly’s whole mysterious main-character situation."
Holly ignored her and slid the key into the lock. The teeth clicked through numbers that were not numbers. Seven. Eleven. Mum.
She turned it.
The door did not open.
Every radio in Tickford did.
A thousand voices burst from phones, train speakers, car stereos, kitchen sets, the headteacher’s emergency tannoy and, horribly, Mr Tafadar’s whistle. Secrets spilled out in people’s own voices.
"I never marked 9C’s homework because I lost it on the bus," boomed Mr Tafadar’s voice from the ceiling.
"Respectfully, sir," Jayden said, "we knew."
"I told everyone I was at netball but I was crying in the toilets," said Tamsin’s voice from a ticket machine. Tamsin went still.
Bea reached for her hand, then pretended she was fixing her sleeve.
A small radio on the floor crackled with Orla’s voice. "I laugh so Holly won’t notice when I’m scared she’ll leave me behind."
Orla looked at Holly, cheeks bright. For one second, the forgetting wobbled.
"I wouldn’t," Holly said softly. "Even if you currently think I’m some random key goblin."
Orla swallowed. "You do feel... familiar."
Then the station lights crashed out.
A new broadcast cut through the others. It sounded colder, as if tomorrow had phoned in sick.
"At 8:13 tomorrow morning, one of you will betray the rest."
The voice became Orla’s, screaming. "I did it! I gave them the key! I’m sorry, Holly, I’m sorry!"
Holly’s grip tightened until the bone hurt her palm.
Static gathered at the locked door, shaping itself into a tall stranger with no face, only flickering lines where eyes should be.
"Correction Day likes punctual children," it whispered. "See you at registration."
The rusted door finally opened a crack, and from inside, Holly’s mum whispered, "Don’t trust the girl who remembers first."
