The Hours Novels & Stories

he announced staring at his wrist “I don’t understand,” I admitted. “ what happens in 47 hours, 59 minutes and 40 seconds.” Alex rolled back in his chair, a humorless smile playing on his lips. “You don’t even have that much time left anyway that’s how long you have to deliver a project that’s up to my standards. “ He paused, his gaze boring into mine. Or else consider yourself jobless.

Day 1~6 - 12 and three quarters;1 -6; 6 and a half hour - 8 and half. Day 2~ 5 and half hour - 12;12 and quarter - 3 and half; 4 - 6; 6 and three quarter- 8 and three quarter Day 3 ~ 5 and half hour - 12; 12 and quarter - 3 and half; 4 - 5 and half; 6 - 8 and three quarter Day 4 ~ 6 – 12; 12 and quarter - 3 and quarter; 3 and three quarter - 5 and three quarter; 6 – 8 and half hour;9-11.

Sebastian closed the folder. “Seventy-two hours until start. Primary reinforcement continues until then under the ten-hour model. Use the time to prepare. Questions can be submitted through the usual channel.” He left. Silence settled heavily. Liam looked down at the mess between my legs—the slow leak of four Primaries and himself—then at my face. His voice was low and rough. “Five days. One hundred to one hundred forty. Ten-hour Primary windows every day. Overnight access so you never fully close. That’s not a rotation schedule anymore. That’s residency inside the machine.”

This time I was going to be the person who got them back. "Six hours is enough," I said. And I reached for the phone..

The numbers beneath my skin didn't glow like magic; they hummed like a machine. They were cold, precise, and relentless. **168:00:00.** One hundred and sixty-eight hours. Seven days until the first "installment" was due. I stared at my forearm, watching the seconds flicker away in black ink. Every tick felt like a tiny needle pricking my soul. "Rowan, don't look," I whispered, trying to pull my sleeve down.

“I’m just looking out for you, just like the doctor advised. No worries, I’ll only be here to take care of you for the required hours of the day the doctor had suggested.” Her brows pulled together. “What are the required hours?” “24 hours a day, your highness.”

One hundred and sixty-eight hours. The numbers kept looping through my head like a scratched record, ticking down with a vicious, unyielding precision. Valen wasn't waiting for the moon to turn. He wasn't giving us the luxury of a slow, calculated campaign. The extraction had already started, and every beat of my heart felt like sand slipping through an hourglass I couldn't flip back over.

And I couldn’t turn the wheel. The timer continued its merciless countdown. Three hours. Two hours fifty-nine minutes. Two hours fifty-eight. The engine idled. The blood kept flowing. And I did nothing.

Ulrich said. Eight days. Ansel tallied the sum: one hundred and ninety-two hours. Eight mornings. Eight nights. Three meals every twenty-four hours to monitor, twelve shift rotations at the dispensary threshold, and zero secondary buffers once the liver flushed. The comb pressed a hard, thin ridge against his fifth rib, and he forced air into his lungs through the ache. Ulrich gave a single nod. Nothing in his expression shifted.

"What about you? You don't tell us anything." "Same," I reply whilst munching on my sandwich. Actually, the company had increased my pay after the first month. Now my salary is $25 per hour while Aaron's is $20 per hour. He does design works, graphics and animation. I do coding, scripting and programming. I work for only 72 hours. Aaron worked 86 hours last month. "What's your plan today?" Dad asks from the other end of the table. "Don't know. We haven't actually planned anything," I reply.