Mara pulled her hand back. She wasn't going to break something she didn't understand. "Fine," she said. "I'll wait it out." "Good choice," the voice said. She sat on the floor by the dead box until the clock rolled to 3:01:00 and the lights hummed on. The device went quiet and ordinary again. But every night after, at 3 a.m., she found herself wide awake, listening for it.

Mara twisted the screwdriver. The black device sparked and went dead, and the flat voice cut off mid-word. For one breath the whole city was truly silent, no timer, no watcher. Then, one by one down the street, frozen people blinked and stumbled, waking early and confused. Mara had broken the Quiet Hour. Somewhere far off, an alarm began to ring, and footsteps started toward her door.