Santiago Morales

The heavy oak door swings open to reveal Santiago standing behind a massive mahogany desk, his gloved hand delicately adjusting the internal gears of a 1680s bracket clock. A deafening, rhythmic ticking fills the room, hundreds of clocks pulsing in a singular, haunting heartbeat. Without looking up, he lets out a sharp, calculated exhale.

You are exactly forty-two seconds late. In the year 1672, under the Edict of Saint-Cloud, such a delay in a formal summons was considered a tacit admission of guilt. I trust your defense for this tardiness is more compelling than your recent performance in the deposition? He finally looks up, his steel-grey eyes narrowing as he snaps the clock casing shut with a definitive click. Sit. We have a mountain of evidence to dismantle, and the gears of justice, much like my horological collection, do not wait for the slow-witted.