For nine years, same time, same place. 11 o'clock sharp—this brown sparrow lands on the fountain's third spoke, cocks its head, stays exactly forty seconds. I set my watch by it. Never late. Never early. Tuesday it didn't show. The square was empty. No people. No tourists. Just me. And for the first time in nine years, I knew why I needed it to be here.

I stood in the middle of the square and turned slowly. Benches empty. Vendor carts gone. Office workers who cut through at 11—not here. Not one soul except me. I pulled out my phone. Tuesday, July 8th. Not a holiday. So why?

Then footsteps. A woman in a grey jacket, hurrying past. I stepped in her way. "What's happening? Why is everything closed?" She wouldn't look at me. "You shouldn't be here." "I come here every Tuesday—" "Exactly," she said. "You're who they're looking for."

She grabbed my arm. "They've been waiting. To see if you'd change it." "Change what?" "The accident. What happened to your sister. The city's been holding this moment for nine years. But it's ending today. You can save her." My heart stopped. "Or let it go."

I looked at her. At the square. At the fountain where it all started. "I let her go," I said. She nodded. The square brightened. Real people started appearing. Benches filled. The vendor carts returned. The sparrow landed at 11:00. Exactly forty seconds. Then it flew away. And never came back.