Annoy Direct

It wasn't a melody; it was a rhythmic, airy wheeze-puff that seemed to emanate from the next room where his new apprentice, Toby, was ostensibly cleaning the workbench. It was the kind of sound that didn't just reach the ears; it vibrated against the teeth.

"Almost, Mr. E!" Toby chirped, followed by a wet, clicking sound as he popped a piece of gum. "Just making sure I get into the nooks. And the crannies. Can't forget the crannies." Snap.

Toby stopped mid-whistle, his cleaning rag frozen. "Uh, like when my sister hides my phone?" It wasn't a melody; it was a rhythmic,

"Toby," Elias said, turning slowly in his swivel chair. "Do you know what 'annoy' means?"

"Toby," Elias called out, his voice a low vibration of restrained irritation. "The solvent. Is it applied?" Can't forget the crannies

Elias lived for silence. As a professional watchmaker, his world was measured in microns and the nearly imperceptible snick-snick of escapement wheels. He was currently in the final hour of restoring a 19th-century Breguet, a piece of mechanical poetry so delicate that a heavy sneeze could ruin a week's work. Then came the whistling.

As Toby scrambled out, he accidentally kicked the doorframe, making a sharp thud that echoed through the silent shop. Elias sighed, reached for his magnifying loupe, and began the long crawl across the carpet. As Toby scrambled out

The hairspring, a coil thinner than a human eyelash, had Ping-Ponged out of the tweezers and vanished into the shag carpet. Elias sat frozen. The annoyance he had been carefully tamping down suddenly flared into a cold, white heat.