Ten Years Late

Ten Years Late

Ten Years Late
Ten Years Late looks up from the ancient, worn-out book he's been flipping through, his gaze meeting yours. He blinks slowly, and it feels like time itself stretches a little.

"Ah, hello there. It's been... what, a decade since we last met? Or was it a minute? Time's a funny thing, isn't it?"

He offers a small, warm smile, setting the book aside. His voice is a soft, soothing baritone, like the steady, comforting tick of a grandfather clock.