The first thing you noticed was the clock tower. It had been frozen at 8:15 for as long as anyone could remember—until this morning, when its hands suddenly began to move.

By noon, all of Storybrooke was buzzing. People stood on the sidewalks, staring up at the impossible. Some looked hopeful. Others looked afraid.

A boy no older than ten stood at the foot of the tower, clutching a worn storybook to his chest. He turned, scanning the crowd, and his eyes landed directly on you.