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“As he walked, his gaze drifted to Findlater’s Corner. The familiar landmark, with its ornate clock and proud stag’s head cresting the building, should have been a reassuring sight. But something was wrong. The clock—he couldn’t look away—was spinning wildly, its hands racing in a frenzied loop. A jolt of fear shot through him, visceral and inexplicable, freezing him mid-step. And then it happened. A blinding flash seared his vision, the shriek of brakes tearing through the air. A horn blared, deafening and close. Time splintered into jagged fragments, each moment stretching into eternity as he turned, his pulse pounding in his ears. The truck barrelled toward him, a monstrous wall of gleaming metal and unstoppable force. His breath hitched—too fast, too close. Panic clutched at him; his body frozen in place even as his mind screamed to move.” — Geoff Webster