No one else in the room seemed to notice when the clock stopped ticking. Which meant my time had finally run out. I sighed and closed the book. Across from me, the man who had lent me those extra years watched patiently. “Well?” he asked. “Well what?” “Did you use it well?” I thought about it. The risks I didn’t take. The things I postponed because I suddenly had “more time.” The way urgency dissolved into comfort. “I… used it,” I said. He winced. “That bad, huh?” The frozen clock ticked once—loud, final. “Do I get a refund?” I tried. He almost smiled. “No refunds. But we do accept exchanges.” “For what?” He reached into his coat and pulled out a folded piece of paper. A map. “Another chance,” he said. “Different conditions.” I hesitated. “What’s the catch?” He shrugged. “There’s always something you don’t get to keep.” I thought about the life I’d just lived. The wasted edges of it. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll take it.” He handed me the map. It dissolved in my hands instantly. “Hey—” “Ah,” he said, checking the motionless clock. “Too late.” The room faded. Time snapped forward. And I understood, just a moment too slow. All things considered, losing the map was the least permanent consequence.