IIIIFinn stepped through the echoing halls of Connor's boyhood home, drawn by the ticking sound of the clock. Each time he stepped into another new room he thought he would find it, but each time he found only abandoned rooms, tattered furniture, moth-eaten curtains.
The house was huge, and Finn soon lost track of how many halls he'd crossed through, how many shadowy corridors he'd walked along. He wondered why anyone would need all this space. A family could live there and never meet each other from one day to the next. It must have been grand once, a sight, but now everything was abandoned and fraying. A smell of dust and damp rose from the faded carpets and the wood panelling. A smell of age. It seemed no one had been there for years. And yet, there was the ticking sound. He could feel
