“Let him have it,” the Elias-part of his brain screamed. “He doesn't deserve the time he’s been given,” the Devil sang.
The shadows in the room rose like black ink in water, swarming toward the collector. Elias felt a frantic, ecstatic heat rising in his chest. He realized then that the "Devil" wasn't an intruder. It was a door that had finally been unlocked. All the bitterness, the suppressed rage of a quiet life, and the hidden desires were pouring out of him, fueled by the ancient mechanism of the clock. the devil in me
"It’s not me," Elias would tell himself, gripping the edge of his workbench until his knuckles turned white. "It’s the best of you," the shadow would retort. “Let him have it,” the Elias-part of his brain screamed
Elias felt his vision split. He saw his own hand reach out—not to hand over the clock, but to grip Sterling’s wrist. He felt the strength of ten men coiled in his muscles. His reflection in the glass of the clock wasn't his own face; it was a void with burning, amber eyes. Elias felt a frantic, ecstatic heat rising in his chest
Just as the shadows touched Sterling's throat, Elias caught a glimpse of himself in a polished silver tray. He looked monstrous—not because of any physical change, but because of the pure, unadulterated joy on his face as he prepared to do something terrible.
But as he leaned in to wipe a smudge of blood from the glass, his reflection didn't move to help. It stayed still for just a fraction of a second longer than it should have, and winked. The clock was broken, but the door stayed unlatched.
"You’re working too hard," the reflection whispered. The voice didn't come from the air; it vibrated inside Elias’s own teeth.