You were never supposed to see it.

The world ran on 24 hours—always had, always would. But one night, as you lay awake in bed, staring at your ceiling, something shifted. The clock on your nightstand hit 00:00, then flickered. Instead of rolling back to 12:01 AM, it displayed something impossible.

00:00 → 25:00

You sat up, heart pounding. The street outside was silent—too silent. No cars, no wind, no distant hum of the city. Everything was frozen.

And then, you saw him.

A figure stood in the middle of the street, dressed in all black, hands tucked into his pockets like he had all the time in the world. He tilted his head, as if sensing you watching, and then—he moved.

Not walked. Not ran. Shifted.

One second he was across the street. The next, he was at your window.

His eyes, dark like the void, locked onto yours. “You’re not supposed to be awake.” His voice was smooth, cold—like the world itself had stopped breathing.

You tried to step back, but your body wouldn’t listen.

“What is this?” you managed to whisper.

He exhaled, amused. “The 25th hour.” His fingers tapped the glass, slow, deliberate. “A time that doesn’t exist. A time only meant for us.”

“…Us?”

“You saw it. Now, you belong to it.”

The clock on your nightstand flickered again. 25:01.

And just like that—the window slid open.