Beneath the umbra of a streetlamp that flickers in syncopated rhythm, you will discover a coffee stain on your jacket resembling a crescent moon, heralding an encounter with a stranger who offers you a single, unmarked key. This individual, distinguishable only by a glove worn on their left hand, will utter a phrase containing exactly seven words before vanishing into the crowd. Heed the warning hidden in the arrangement of shattered clock faces you will later find, for your next decision hangs in the balance of a broken hour.