Sid traced his finger over the bronze watch, studying the patterns etched into its surface. The gears clicked their strange rhythm—three beats, pause, repeat. Dark magic always left a signature, and this one matched the curse burning cold in his chest. The wizard who ruined him was close now, maybe days away instead of months. Every lead pointed deeper into the canyon settlements, where cursed men went to hide and dark magic pooled like bad water. Sid would find him there, tear answers from his throat, and end this undeath before it became permanent. The watch clicked again in his palm. Soon. He needed a base. Somewhere to plan, to track the wizard's movements, to sharpen his chopsticks between hunts. The bungalow sat half-buried in sand, its walls clutched by thick cacti that had grown wild over the years. Paint peeled from the shutters. Broken pottery littered the porch. Sid kicked open the door and stepped inside. Dust swirled in shafts of light. The place smelled like dead rats and old tobacco, but the bones were solid. A table stood in the corner, perfect for spreading maps. He dropped the watch onto the wood and listened to it click. This would work. From here, he'd hunt the wizard down, one lead at a time, until the curse ended or his bones turned to powder. The three-beat rhythm kept pulling at his attention. Sid pressed his thumb against the watch's face and felt the enchantment pulse back. Master Zhou had taught him to read curses by their tempo—fast meant pain, slow meant death, irregular meant madness. This one beat like a heart trying to stop. He'd carry it with him, let it guide him to the wizard like blood calling to blood. The canyon settlements were three days east, maybe four if the heat slowed him down. Sid pocketed the watch and walked back outside. Cacti shadows stretched long across the sand. He had a base now, a cursed compass, and seventeen death forms that needed practice. The wizard wouldn't stay hidden much longer. But finding one man in the settlements meant asking questions, and questions needed ears. Sid walked until he found the newsstand, a tower of brass gears and wood that clicked and whirred in the heat. A Sasquatch stood behind the counter, sorting papers with hands the size of dinner plates. Sid pulled a coin from his pocket and slid it across. "I need to post a notice. Looking for a wizard. Dark magic user. Probably hiding, probably scared." The Sasquatch nodded and handed him a slip of paper. Sid wrote fast—description, last known location, reward for information. He pinned it to the board and stepped back. Now the town would do the work for him. Someone always knew something. Someone always talked. The watch clicked three times in his pocket, counting down to the moment he'd stand face to face with the man who cursed him.