You're late," I mutter under my breath, eyes flicking to the antique pocket watch tucked into my vest. Rook caws softly from his perch on my shoulder, the only acknowledgement of my displeasure. The old clock tower chimes eleven, its tolls echoing through the gloomy alley behind the auction house. My fingers trace the intricate carvings on the watch's casing, a habit born of nervous energy rather than admiration for the craftsmanship.