The watch is cracked. Spider's web, fractured glass spiralling outward from two to nine. Broken like the mirror in the bathroom. Like the screen that had shattered under the impact of Adam's body and torn him apart.
Inside, gears lie still. No cogs turn to move mechanical hands. Elsewhere, motors whir in prosthetic fingers to maneuver a screwdriver between the rim and the casing, and lay it open.
Now he can be Sarif and the watch can be him.
Adam works carefully, meticulously, wrestling for control of hands that aren't his, and finds a place for new parts. He seals them away inside the casing. Finds a glass face, shiny and new; hides the damage dealt by the crack.
By the time he's done, little of the old watch remains.
A dial turns to move the hands forward, then an implanted battery takes over. Second by second, time drags them on.
Adam hears his heart tick.