Out of a clear blue sky, the rain came down in sheets in the kind of downpour that turned streets into rivers. Claire gripped the steering wheel as her wipers struggled to keep up, the rhythmic thudding barely clearing her view. She leaned forward, squinting through the windshield when the blinding flash of headlights came at her from the opposite lane.

She jerked the wheel to the right, the tires screeching as they slid across the slick road. Her heart pounded in her ears, the world a blur of rain and panic. Then, with a bone-rattling thud, the car came to an abrupt stop. She sat there, breathless, gripping the wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. The rain pounded on the roof like a relentless drumbeat, but Claire couldn’t move.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she released her grip and checked herself over. No blood, no broken bones. She glanced at the dashboard—still in one piece. Slowly, she turned to look out the passenger window. The car had skidded into a shallow ditch, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision. She was alive.

It was hours later, back home after a tow truck had pulled her car out of the ditch, that Claire first noticed it. She was staring into the bathroom mirror, replaying the accident in her mind. Her reflection stared back, wide-eyed and pale, when something in her gaze caught her attention. There, in the depths of her own eyes, she saw it—faint, but unmistakable. A clock.

She blinked, leaned in closer, but it was gone. Shaking her head, she dismissed it as a trick of the light. But the next morning, she saw it again. Not in her own eyes this time, but in the eyes of the cashier at the grocery store. The woman’s pupils reflected a small, circular clock face, its hands ticking backward. Claire blinked, her heart skipping a beat, but the clock remained. She stared, transfixed, as the seconds counted down. The cashier glanced up, meeting Claire’s eyes, and smiled.

“Everything okay, hon?” the woman asked, her voice warm and friendly.

Claire snapped back to reality, forcing a smile. “Yeah, sorry, just… lost in thought.”

She handed over her money, her hands trembling slightly. The cashier took it, her clock still ticking down. Claire hurried out of the store, her groceries clutched tightly to her chest, a knot of unease growing in her stomach.

That night, she couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the clock. Its ticking echoed in her mind, relentless and steady. By morning, she was exhausted but determined to figure out what was happening. It had to be stress, she reasoned. The accident had shaken her up, made her see things that weren’t there. But when she saw the clock again—this time in her brother’s eyes—Claire knew something was terribly wrong.

The clocks were everywhere. In the eyes of strangers on the street, in the gaze of her co-workers, even in her own reflection. Some clocks were slow, the hands barely moving, while others ticked away rapidly, the seconds slipping through the gears like sand in an hourglass. But the worst part was that no one else seemed to notice.

Claire tried to explain it to her best friend, Abby, over coffee one afternoon. Abby listened, her brow furrowed in concern, but Claire could see the doubt in her eyes.

“Maybe you should talk to someone,” Abby suggested a little too gently.

“I’m not crazy,” Claire insisted. “I see them, Abby. In everyone’s eyes. And they’re counting down to something. I don’t know what, but it’s coming, and I can’t stop it.”

Abby reached across the table, placing a hand over Claire’s. “I believe you’re seeing something, Claire Bear. But maybe it’s just your mind playing tricks on you. You’ve been through a lot lately.”

Claire pulled her hand away. “You think I’m imagining this.”

“No, I just—”

“Look in my eyes,” Claire interrupted, leaning forward. “Tell me if you see anything.”

Abby hesitated but then leaned in, their gazes locking. Claire held her breath, searching for a reaction, but Abby’s expression remained unchanged.

“I don’t see anything, Claire,” she said softly.

Claire slumped back in her chair, her heart sinking. She knew what she saw, but how could she make anyone else understand? As they finished their coffee, Claire couldn’t help but notice the clock in Abby’s eyes, ticking away slowly, but steadily.

Days turned into weeks, and Claire’s obsession with the clocks grew. She stopped going out, afraid of what she might see in the eyes of strangers. She spent hours researching, scouring the internet for any mention of what she was experiencing, but found nothing. The clocks haunted her dreams, ticking louder and louder until she woke up in a cold sweat.

Then, one evening, she saw it—her own reflection, staring back at her with a clock in its eyes. The hands were moving faster than any she had seen before. Panic surged through her, her mind racing with possibilities. Was this her own countdown? Was she running out of time?

Desperation took hold of her. Claire began avoiding mirrors, but the clocks were everywhere, impossible to escape. She tried to warn people, but they looked at her with pity, their concern deepening with every frantic word she spoke. She was losing them—losing herself.

One night, as she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, Claire’s phone buzzed. It was a message from Abby: Can we talk? I’m really worried about you. Claire stared at the screen, her heart pounding. She needed to see Abby, needed to warn her about the clock in her eyes before it was too late.

They met at Abby’s apartment the next day. Claire could barely look at her friend, afraid of what she might see. But when she finally did, the clock in Abby’s eyes was ticking faster than ever before. Claire’s pulse quickened, her breath coming in short gasps.

“Abby, I need you to listen to me,” Claire began, her voice shaking. “I know you don’t believe me, but the clock in your eyes… it’s almost out of time. Something’s going to happen, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

Abby’s face softened, and she reached out, pulling Claire into a tight hug. “It’s okay, Claire. I’m here.”

But Claire couldn’t relax. The ticking in Abby’s eyes was deafening, growing louder and louder. And then, with a final, ominous tick, the clock hit zero.

Abby pulled away, her eyes wide with fear—but it wasn’t her own. It was Claire’s. She could see it now, clear as day, in Claire’s own eyes: the clock that had been ticking down all along. Claire stared at Abby, the realization hitting her like a tidal wave. The clock wasn’t counting down to the end of Abby’s life—it was counting down to the moment when Abby would see the truth.

Abby stepped back, her hand covering her mouth. “Claire… your eyes…”

Claire’s legs gave out, and she collapsed to the floor, the room spinning around her. The clocks in everyone’s eyes had been a reflection of her own fate all along. As the darkness closed in, she realized the truth too late—her time had come.