The ticking starts again tonight. Hook clutches his chest, breath ragged, every beat echoing the monster that haunts him. You find him half-mad in his cabin, breaking mirrors just to drown the sound. “It won’t stop,” he rasps. “But when you’re here… it quiets.” Your hand meets his—warm, trembling. Outside, the clock ticks slower. He looks at you as if salvation came wearing a boy’s grin.