I looked at Blair. You take point. Ill cover the middle. Alina, you cover rear.

  She nodded, moving to the door and pressing the release. The door slid open with a low hiss, and cold air rushed in, swirling around our feet.

  We stepped into the next car. The air was even colder here, biting through my shirt and vest. Frost rimed the windows, thick white crystals spreading across the glass. The floor was slick in places, patches of ice making every step uncertain. The seats were gone, replaced by rows of metal lockers bolted to the walls. One locker was open, its door hanging loose, the inside empty except for a single hanger swinging back and forth.

  Blair moved up the left side, checking each locker as we passed. She gripped the handle, yanked the doors open one by one, peered inside, then moved on. Nothing in this one. Empty here.

  I moved along the opposite side, checking each locker. I pulled open the doors, the metal creaking in the cold. Most were empty, a few filled with broken hangers and scraps of clothing, shirts torn down the middle, a single boot with no laces, a scarf twisted into a knot. One locker was locked, the handle frozen in place, refusing to budge no matter how hard I pulled.

  Alinas voice was tight, her breath fogging in the cold. Why would they have lockers on a passenger train?

  Blair kept moving, not looking back. Crew car, maybe. Or just another trap.

  At the far end, a pile of debris blocked the exit. Blair knelt down, knees pressed to the icy floor, and started picking through it. She tossed aside broken plastic, pieces of metal tubing, and a tangle of wires. I stood over her, pistol raised, covering the door. Alina stood behind me, watching the door, her pistol pointed at the ground but ready.

  Blair dug deeper, her hands moving quickly. She paused, picking up a small metal box, about the size of her palm. She flipped it open, checked inside, then held it up. Ammo. Nine mil. Looks like two full mags.

  I took them from her, checking the rounds by pressing my thumb against the top bullet in each mag. Load them. Well need every shot.

  Alina stepped up, holding out her pistol. I pressed the mag release, caught the empty mag as it dropped, and slid a fresh one in. I racked the slide, checked the chamber, then handed it back to her. She took it, her grip steadier now, fingers tight around the handle.

  Blair cleared the last of the debris, shoving a plastic panel aside and revealing the door. She pressed the release, and the door slid open with a hiss, cold air pouring in.

  The next car was different. The floor was carpeted, the walls lined with fake wood paneling. It looked like a lounge, but everything was trashed: tables overturned, chairs broken, glass scattered across the floor. The carpet was stained and torn, patches of walking exposed where the fabric had been ripped away. One overturned chair had a sharp splinter of wood sticking out, and a broken bottle lay nearby, its jagged edge catching the red light.

  Blair moved in first, pistol up, sweeping the left side. Clear left.

  I moved up, scanning the right side. I kept my pistol steady, barrel angled slightly down, but ready. My boots pressed into the carpet, which was sticky underfoot. A pool of blood stained the carpet, spreading out in a dark, uneven oval, the edges already drying to a rusty color. I crouched, squinting, searching for any sign of a body, shoes, a hand, even a smear leading away, but there was nothing. Just the blood, thick and silent, soaking into the fibers.

  Alina stepped in behind me, her boots crunching on a splinter of glass. Her eyes were wide, darting from the blood to the overturned chairs. I shook my head, keeping my voice quiet. Could be another trap. Stay alert. I straightened, sweeping the room with my gaze, checking every shadow, every gap between the broken tables.

  We moved through the lounge together, deliberate and slow. I stepped over the shattered remains of a coffee table, the wood split and jagged. Alina skirted around a toppled armchair, its fabric torn, stuffing poking out in clumps. My foot nudged a broken lamp, sending its ceramic base rolling a few inches before it stopped against a chair leg. I paused, glancing at the far end of the car.

  A door marked STAFF ONLY stood half open, the sign hanging crooked, one screw missing. The light from the lounge barely reached it, turning the gap into a black slash.

  Blair moved ahead, her pistol raised and both hands steady. She reached the door, bracing herself against the frame. She didnt touch the handle. Instead, she lifted her boot, pressing the toe against the edge, and shoved the door open. The hinges squealed, the door swinging inward a few feet before stopping against something inside.

  The staff room was small, barely enough space for all three of us. The walls were lined with metal cabinets, their paint chipped and streaked with grime. A single table, bolted to the floor, sat in the center. Its surface was scratched, a few old stains dried into the metal. A first aid kit hung on the wall above the table, the plastic case cracked but still closed, a spiderweb of white lines radiating from one corner.

  Blair stepped in first, eyes scanning the ceiling and corners for anything out of place. She reached up and yanked the first aid kit from its hook, tossing it to me. Check it.

  I caught it with one hand, pistol still ready in the other. I set the kit on the table, flipping the latch with my thumb. The lid stuck for a second, then popped open, hinges creaking. Inside, I found a stack of bandages, a half-empty bottle of pills rattling in its compartment, a roll of medical tape flattened from use, and a single injector labeled PAINKILLER in block letters across the side.

  I picked up the injector, feeling the weight of it in my palm. The label was faded, but the plunger looked intact. I slid it into my jacket pocket, then gathered the bandages, tape, and pills, holding them out to Alina. Could come in handy, I said, my voice flat.

  She took them, tucking the supplies into her own bag, her fingers trembling slightly as she zipped it shut.

  We moved to the far door, the one opposite the lounge. This door had a narrow window at eye level, but it was frosted over, the glass opaque and milky. Blair stepped up, wiped the glass with her sleeve, smearing away a layer of grime. She pressed her face close, eyes narrowed, trying to make out anything on the other side. She turned back to me, her tone subdued. Looks empty. But I cant see much.

  "Open it up," I said, stepping closer.

  Blair pressed the release button beside the door. The mechanism whined, and the door slid open a few inches, then caught. She shoved it with her shoulder, forcing it open wide enough for us to pass through.

  The next car was pitch black. No lights, no windows, just a solid wall of darkness that seemed to swallow everything. The air felt colder, the temperature dropping a few degrees as soon as the door opened.

  "We need some light," she said.

  I slung the duffel bag off my shoulder, kneeling to unzip the main compartment. I rummaged through the gear by touch, fingers brushing over spare magazines, a coil of rope, then the hard plastic of a flashlight. I pulled it free, thumbed the switch, and a narrow beam of light cut through the dark.

  Blair reached for the flashlight. I handed it over, the metal cool against my palm. She led the way, holding the light out in front of her. The beam swept over the floor, catching on slick puddles of water that reflected the light in broken patches. Above us, rows of pipes ran along the ceiling, some dripping, others crusted with rust.

  Alinas voice was barely audible behind me. I dont like this. She pressed closer, her hand brushing my arm, fingers curling around my sleeve.

  I kept my pistol raised, my other hand steadying Alina as we moved forward. The flashlights beam jumped left and right, illuminating patches of metal floor, the glint of water, the thick shadows between the pipes.

  "Trap wire," she said.

  I knelt beside her, shining my own light along the wire. It was taut, almost invisible unless the beam hit it just right. I followed it with my eyes, tracing it up to a small black box mounted to the ceiling. The box had a blinking red light and a tangle of wires running into it.

  Looks like it triggers something overhead, I said, keeping my voice steady. I shifted my weight, sliding my knife from its sheath. I reached under the wire, careful not to touch it, and positioned the blade just behind the anchor point.

  Blair traced the wire with her flashlight, following it to the box. Could be a flashbang. Or worse.

  I pressed the knife against the wire, sawing gently until the tension gave way. The wire snapped with a faint twang, recoiling toward the wall. I held my breath, waiting for an explosion or a burst of light, but nothing happened. The box stayed dark, the red light still blinking. I let out a shaky breath and straightened.

  Blair stepped over the spot where the wire had been, placing her foot carefully just beyond the anchor. She moved on, flashlight sweeping the floor ahead. Alina followed, her hand gripping my arm tight, nails biting through my sleeve as she stepped over the wire. I kept my body between her and the ceiling box, just in case.

  We reached the far end of the car. Another keypad was mounted beside the door, this one with a small fingerprint scanner set into the panel. The keys were smeared with grime, the scanner scratched but still glowing faintly.

  Blair looked at me, her face tight. We dont have a print.

  I scanned the shadows, searching for anything that might help. My light caught on something pale near the wall, a severed hand, the wrist ragged, fingers curled inward. I stepped over, crouched, and picked it up by the base, the skin cold and stiff. I pressed the fingers against the scanner, one after the other, until the light on the panel flashed green and the lock clicked open.

  "He's truly sick."

  "Let's keep moving," I said.

  The next car was brighter, fluorescent lights flickering overhead. The hum of electricity vibrated in the air. The seats were back, arranged in rows, bolted to the floor. At the far end, another woman sat slumped in a seat, her head bowed, arms bound to the armrests with plastic ties. Her hair was tangled, falling over her face, and her shirt was torn at the collar, exposing the pale skin of her neck and collarbone.

  "Be careful," she said.

  I approached from the other side, scanning for wires, trip lines, anything that might be another trap. I checked under the seats, around the womans feet, then circled to her side. Nothing obvious. I knelt beside her, reaching for my knife. I slid the blade under the plastic ties, sawing through them one by one. The plastic snapped, curling away from her wrists.

  She lifted her head slowly, her eyes glazed and unfocused. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Her skin was pale, almost gray, and her cheeks were streaked with dried tears.

  "Are you hurt anywhere?" Alina asked, voice gentle.

  "Just tired and cold."

  I checked her arms for injuries, rolling up her sleeves to the elbow, inspecting for cuts or bruises. There was nothing major, just a few scrapes and a bruise on her forearm.

  Blair scanned the car, pistol sweeping from row to row. We need to move, she said, urgency in her voice.

  I stood, sliding my knife away. I helped the woman to her feet, bracing her under one arm. She leaned heavily on Alina, her legs shaking with every step.

  We moved together to the far end, Blair covering the rear, pistol aimed down the aisle. The woman stumbled once, nearly falling, but I caught her elbow, steadying her. Alina wrapped an arm around her waist, guiding her forward.

  The door at the end was locked, the keypad smashed in, wires hanging loose from the panel. Blair pulled a heavy wrench from her belt, gripping it with both hands. She swung it at the panel, metal ringing against metal. She hit it again, harder, until the lock disengaged with a loud clunk.

  We stepped into the next car. This one was empty, just bare metal walls and a single bench bolted to the floor. The lights flickered overhead, casting sharp-edged shadows on the walls.

  "Clear," she said.

  I guided the woman to the bench, easing her down until she sat. Alina sat beside her, wrapping her arm around the womans shoulders, holding her close. The womans chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, her eyes fixed on the floor.

  Blair leaned against the wall, pistol resting in her lap. We need a plan.

  I nodded, pulling the map from my pocket and unfolding it on my knee. Were almost to the front. Two cars left. I traced our path with my finger, double-checking each stop.

  Alina looked up at me, worry in her eyes. What happens when we get there?

  I shook my head. We find The Conductor. We end this. My voice was flat, no room for argument.

  Blair met my eyes, her expression hard. If he lets us.

  The train rumbled on beneath us, the motion steady, the storm outside unchanged. The lights flickered again, throwing our shadows against the walls.

  I checked my pistol, pressing the mag release and sliding in a fresh magazine. I racked the slide, chambering a round. Blair did the same, her hands practiced, movements economical.

  "What's your name?" she asked gently.

  The woman hesitated, her eyes unfocused. I I dont remember.

  Alina squeezed her hand, her grip gentle. Its okay. Youre safe now.

  "Let's keep moving," she said.

  We gathered our gear. I helped the woman to her feet, steadying her as she swayed. Alina took her other arm, and together we guided her toward the door.

  The door slid open, metal scraping against metal, and we stepped into the unknown.

  Chapter 23

  I woke up with the hum of the train under my feet and the faint chill of winter air seeping through the metal plating. The passenger car around me was lit by flickering overhead lights, casting long shadows against the seats and aisles. Blair and Alina stood on either side of me. We had just passed through a newly unlocked bulkhead, stepping into this next section of the endless bullet train. All of us looked exhausted—the sort of tired where your mind can’t shake the feeling that something’s off, but you soldier on anyway.

  Blair was the petite one, with silver hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She wore a snug tank top and black leggings that highlighted her athletic frame. Alina, taller with dark brown hair, had a tight-fitting shirt and jeans that hugged her in all the right places—she was stunning in a way that was almost distracting. I was Asher, and despite my attempts to remember more about who I’d been, only my name felt certain. The rest of my past sat in a hazy void. The same went for my two companions. We had no clue how we got here. We only knew we had to survive.

  Sparks flew from a damaged overhead speaker, followed by that chilling voice we knew too well. “Welcome to the next phase of your journey,” The Conductor said. His tone was mocking, the same twisted glee we’d heard before. “Your previous kills and accomplishments, let’s call them… moot. Consider your score reset to zero. Show me you can adapt beyond your programming and maybe—maybe—you’ll make it to the front.”

  I exchanged a look with Alina and Blair. None of us responded. Talking back to The Conductor over the intercom never accomplished anything but more taunts. Instead, I took a few steps forward. The corridor ahead was narrower than the one we’d left, with an arched metal doorway that had to lead deeper into the train.

  “If we want to keep moving,” Blair said, her green eyes scanning the area, “we’d better figure out how. That giant checkpoint door back there is sealed shut.”

  She jerked her thumb at the sliding partition behind us, already locked. Usually each new train car had two barriers: one opening behind us once we cleared an area, and one ahead that we had to breach. This time, the door behind remained sealed. It made my stomach flutter with worry. We were on a one-way ride.

  I kept my voice steady to avoid showing how uneasy I felt. “We keep pressing forward. That’s how we beat him.” I raised my baton—my main means of defense for the moment. We’d picked up some basic bulletproof vests from older fights, but the baton was all I had in terms of a reliable melee weapon. My back twinged from a fight that felt like it happened ages ago, though it might’ve only been an hour or two.

  Alina wrapped her arms around herself, breathing slow puffs of air in the cold environment. “We don’t even know how big this train is. We have no idea what’s waiting.”

  “We know The Conductor wants us to fight for our lives,” I said. “And that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

  Up ahead, a mechanical beep came from around the corner. I nodded for Blair to follow me, and Alina fell in behind. It felt routine by now: I’d take the front, Blair kept an angle for cover, and Alina guarded our rear. My muscles tensed at every squeak and creak from the train’s joints.

  We stepped into the next compartment. Rows of overhead luggage bins lined the area, and the seats here had torn fabric, as if someone had gone at them with knives. Snow battered the outside windows, but all we could see was blackness beyond the swirling flakes. It was still night—or what passed for night in this never-ending journey. The neon overhead lights hummed, blinking on and off like they might give out any second.

  Alina grabbed my arm. “Look, there’s some kind of checkpoint door up there. And a keycard reader.”

  Sure enough, the door we needed to pass through sat on the far side, with a rectangular device attached to the wall. A little red LED flickered. A slot for a card was set beneath it.

  “We can’t open it from here,” Blair said, stepping up to the door, pressing her gloved hand against the seam in the metal. “We either find a keycard somewhere, or we backtrack.”

  “Backtracking’s not really an option,” I noted. “We can’t open that last bulkhead. It’s locked.”

  Alina paced, her dark brown hair swishing against her shoulders. “Maybe The Conductor left it intentionally so we can’t go back.”

  Overhead, the intercom crackled again. “A sealed checkpoint? How interesting. Well, you can always scavenge if you’re resourceful. Maybe you’ll find what you need in the recesses of this car. Or maybe not.”