The clock above the marina office stopped at 4:17. After the harbor master's death, someone said it marked the hour he passed away. The story appeared in a local newsletter, and visitors began photographing it.
His assistant, Noor, found a parts order dated several weeks earlier. The movement had failed, and the replacement never arrived. The hands stopped wherever the mechanism ceased working. The time of his death was not recorded in any document held by the marina.
Noor hesitated before correcting the newsletter. The harbor master's family found comfort in the story. She showed them the order privately, along with his handwritten complaint about the supplier. His son laughed at the familiar impatience and asked whether the clock could finally be repaired.
At the reopening, it ran a little fast. Noor placed the old movement in the office drawer with the order, while the son adjusted the hands. People still photographed the clock, but its purpose had changed back to the ordinary one his father had wanted. It told departing crews how much daylight remained instead of fixing him forever inside an invented minute.