The train car was oppressively silent at night, the kind of stillness that made every breath feel too loud. The rhythmic clatter of the wheels on the tracks had become background noise, blending into the thick, suffocating quiet.

  Only six of us remained in the carriage. Besides the three of us and the old woman who had so casually taken the life of the young man with the braid, there were just two others: a company employee clutching a briefcase and a small child, his fingers curled tightly around the fabric of his oversized coat. The company employee sat rigidly upright, his knuckles white against the leather of his case, while the child shrank into his seat as if hoping to disappear entirely.

  The others shot wary glances in our direction, their movements stiff with unease.

  Clearly, we unsettled them.

  Lowering my voice, I murmured to Elliot, "I think this is the game giving us… a sign. Dropping us here with no instructions, no hints—it’s too deliberate, too unnatural. Like it wants to see how we react."

  Elliot exhaled slowly, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on his sleeve. "Pay attention to the station names…"

  He read them aloud, his brow furrowing. After a pause, he said, "Next stop: Moby Station. It arrives at midnight. Do we get off?"

  I pressed my lips together before answering. "Of course we do." My gaze swept between the two of them. "Have you heard of the M?bius strip?"

  I reached for the stiff paper menu, tearing off a long, narrow strip about an inch wide. Twisting it 180 degrees, I carefully joined the ends together, forming a peculiar loop.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Holding it up for them to see, I explained, "This is a M?bius strip, discovered by the German mathematician M?bius. It only has one continuous surface. If you start walking along it, you’ll never reach an end—it just keeps going, infinitely."

  Elliot’s voice was barely above a whisper. "Like this train. Always moving. Never stopping."

  "And look at the station names," I continued. "They’ve split ‘M?bius’ into ‘Moby Station’ and ‘Uss Station.’ That can’t be a coincidence. And in between them, there’s ‘Waterbloom Station.’" I frowned, my eyes drifting to the frost on the window, melting in ghostly streaks beneath the cabin’s warmth. "What exactly is waterbloom?"

  No. 137, clearly struggling to keep up with the conversation, scratched her head. "Is that something you can eat?"

  Elliot let out a long-suffering sigh. "...You’re thinking of water caltrops."

  "Waterbloom can be edible too," I cut in, unwilling to let the topic derail us any further. "But let’s worry about that later. Look ahead."

  A warm glow flickered to life in the distance, pooling like molten gold in the darkness. It wavered slightly, as if the light itself was unsure of its own existence.

  The station’s lights.

  The train, meant to arrive at midnight, was pulling in early.

  Moby Station.

  Elliot and I exchanged glances, and in his eyes, I saw the same sinking weight I felt in my chest.

  The automated station announcement crackled to life, hollow and mechanical, its distorted words sending a chill down my spine.

  I exhaled, gripping the strap of my bag a little tighter. "Let’s go."