She nodded, relief mixing with her worry. “You look different from them. You’re not dressed like a soldier or something. And you’re talking to me, not attacking.”

  I exhaled, setting the baton at my side. “I’m just as confused as you. But I’m trying to reach Car 10 to save someone who was taken. We can move forward together, if you want.”

  Before Blair could respond, the lights overhead flickered. An electric pop sounded, and the entire car went dark, replaced by only a few red emergency strips along the floor. She let out a scared gasp, stumbling closer to me in the sudden dimness. I reached out, catching her arm. “Stay calm,” I said quietly.

  Her voice was shaky. “The power?”

  I scanned the perimeter. Thankfully, the emergency lights revealed enough to see shapes. “Might be sabotage or some puzzle from the Conductor,” I said under my breath. “I saw a breaker panel near the entrance.” The Conductor had already proven controlling. Maybe he cut the lights. But I didn’t want to remain in the dark.

  Blair stayed close as I crept back to the door, squinting at the nearest wall. A small access panel for electrical controls was mounted waist-high. I pried it open. Inside were a series of breakers and wires. “I’m going to try flipping some switches,” I told her. “Could spark something, but hopefully it’ll power partial lights.”

  Blair hovered near my shoulder. “You know how to do that?”

  I grimaced. “Not really, but I’ll try.” It felt like I had some instincts or muscle memory for a lot of things, so maybe I could figure this out too. Carefully, I toggled one breaker at a time. Most did nothing. A few caused brief flickers, but the main overhead lights stayed off. Finally, I rearranged two smaller switches together. A muted hum returned, and some of the lights overhead flickered to life, though not all. Enough to see better, though.

  Blair exhaled in relief. “Thank you,” she whispered. She was trembling slightly, standing just a foot from me. She was short, maybe only reaching my chest. Her petite tank top and leggings highlighted her small, perky breasts and slim figure, though the obvious fear in her eyes dwarfed any immediate sense of attraction.

  The overhead speaker crackled with static. The Conductor’s distorted voice came through: “You would do well not to modify the train’s systems.” Then the static cut out abruptly.

  Blair’s eyes widened. “He’s always watching, isn’t he? That’s what it feels like.”

  I set my jaw, ignoring the new rule. “Better to see than stumble around in darkness.” I closed the panel. “We need to keep moving, get to Car 10. But if we meet more of those attackers, we’ll need some protection.”

  She nodded, glancing at my baton. “All I’ve got is this.” She held up a broken table leg. Hardly ideal. “I… well, I can swing it, I guess.”

  I looked her over. “We’ll find something better,” I promised. “Stay behind me for now.” We walked deeper into the club car. The neon decorations flickered eerily. Rounding a corner, we saw two masked men lying face-down on the floor, unmoving. Their outfits looked similar to the others I’d fought, but these were riddled with bullet holes. My stomach twisted. “Looks like someone else fought them,” I murmured.

  Blair bent down to examine one body, carefully avoiding the blood seeping near him. She shuddered but forced herself to remain steady. “He’s got a bulletproof vest on.” She tugged at the straps. “Might still be usable if we can get it off.”

  I knelt beside the other. “He does too.” I unfastened the straps on that vest with some effort, pulling it free. My baton clattered on the floor while I wrestled the heavy gear off. Once off, I checked it quickly. It had a few dents from bullets, but overall it was intact. “Could come in handy. At least it’s some protection from their knives and rods.”

  Blair managed to pry the vest from her attacker. She panted slightly, turning it over in her hands. “I’ll put this on,” she said, voice thick with anxiety-laced resolve. She pulled it over her tank top, adjusting the straps. It was a bit large, but she tightened it enough that it wouldn’t slip off. On her petite frame, it looked bulky, but she’d rather have that than no protection.

  I strapped the other vest on over my shirt. It felt constricting, but I figured I’d get used to it. “All right. Let’s go,” I urged. “We need to find a route to Car 10.” We picked our way around the fallen assassins and continued toward the end of the club car.

  On the far side, an exit door led to a small open section between cars. It was basically an outdoor walkway, shielded somewhat by a partial enclosure. I slid the door open. Immediately, a gust of frigid air blasted us, stinging my cheeks. Swirling snow whipped past, though the night sky was too dark to see more than flecks of white.

  Blair cried out in surprise, hugging herself. “It’s freezing!” Her hair whipped around her face. “What are you doing?”

  I ventured a step onto the walkway, gripping a railing. The train roared along at high speed. “I want to see if I can disconnect some of these cars, maybe shorten the train.” If I could remove entire sections behind me, maybe I could isolate where Alina was being held.

  Blair watched nervously from the doorway. “Are you sure that’s possible?”

  I squinted in the wind, scanning the coupling mechanisms. Large steel clamps joined the cars. There was a manual release lever, but it was locked in place. I pulled on it with all my strength, but it wouldn’t budge. I tore my cold-numbed fingers on the metal. Nothing gave way. The overhead speaker crackled again, somehow audible even over the howling wind. The Conductor’s mocking tone cut through:

  “You can’t beat the system that easily. Get back inside, or freeze out there.”

  Frustrated, I tried once more, but the lever refused to move. At last, I conceded. I stumbled back inside, shutting the door behind me. Blair was shivering, arms crossed over her chest. “It’s impossible right now,” I told her. “He’s locked it.”

  She nodded, breath visible in short bursts. “Then we keep going.” She took a shaky moment to steady herself. I patted her shoulder, noticing how frail she looked in that oversized vest and no sleeves. But her eyes showed determination. We moved onward.

  Past the bar, we found a door labeled “Next Car Access, Car 8.” The overhead sign suggested we had some distance left to go if we wanted to reach Car 10. I pressed the button, and the door slid open.

  CHAPTER 11

  After crossing another short corridor, the environment changed drastically. The moment we stepped through the doorframe, it was as if we’d entered a different world. The polished floor beneath my boots gleamed, reflecting the bright, even overhead lighting. Each table in the dining car stood perfectly spaced, their surfaces covered in crisp, immaculate white tablecloths that draped to just above the floor. Not a single wrinkle marred the fabric. The chairs, upholstered in deep blue, were tucked in at precise angles, each one aligned with the edge of its table. The whole place looked untouched, as though the next group of passengers would arrive any second for a formal dinner service. There was no trace of chaos: no luggage, no overturned chairs, no stains or debris. The silverware at each setting was perfectly aligned, forks and knives resting on folded napkins. Even the glassware sparkled, catching the light in clean, sharp lines.

  Blair’s jaw slackened as she took it all in. Her lips parted, and for a moment she just stared. “It’s… so clean. Doesn’t match what we’ve seen so far.” Her voice was quiet, a mix of relief and wariness. Her eyes darted from table to table, as if expecting some hidden menace to reveal itself from behind the flawless order.

  I led the way, stepping between the tables. My boots made no sound on the smooth floor. I kept my weight low and my eyes scanning, half-expecting something to leap from behind a chair or a cart. Blair followed, her hands hovering near her vest’s straps, ready to grab her weapon if needed. We moved in single file, weaving carefully between the chairs, always checking the corners and the space beneath the tables for any sign of movement or a tripwire. My gaze swept along the walls, where I spotted several silver serving carts parked in even rows. Their surfaces were polished to a mirror finish, and some held trays with domed covers. I could see my own distorted reflection in the nearest cart’s side.

  My stomach gave a low, insistent rumble, the sound echoing faintly in the silence. I realized with a jolt that I hadn’t eaten anything but stale snack bags and warm soda since the morning. The sight of the serving carts made my mouth water. “Maybe we can find real food,” I said, voice low but hopeful.

  Blair nodded without hesitation. “We need strength.” She approached the nearest cart, her steps cautious but determined. She reached out, fingers curling around the edge of the metal tray cover. She paused a second, then lifted it slowly, keeping her body angled away in case of a trap. The cover rose with a hiss, and a thick cloud of steam billowed out, swirling up into the air and dissipating toward the ceiling lights. Inside the tray, several plastic containers were stacked in neat rows, their surfaces fogged from the heat. A faint warmth radiated from a built-in heating element beneath the tray.

  Blair bent closer, squinting at the labels printed on the containers. She picked one up, turning it in her hands. Her thumb found the edge of the lid, and she pried it off with a quick, practiced motion. The plastic flexed and popped as she pulled it back, releasing another puff of steam. Inside, a serving of white rice and mixed vegetables sat in separated compartments. The vegetables were bright, still holding their color, and the rice was fluffed up, not clumped.

  She looked over at me, her expression resigned but grateful. “Might as well. I’m starving.” She set the container down on the nearest table, then grabbed a plastic fork from a stack beside the tray.

  I joined her, scanning the other covered trays. I lifted one of the domed lids, using the cloth napkin from a nearby place setting to avoid burning my fingers. The steam curled up, hot against my face. Inside, I found more containers, this time labeled “Chicken and Pasta.” I grabbed one, feeling the heat through the thin plastic, and carried it over to Blair’s table. I peeled the lid back, careful not to spill any of the sauce inside. The chicken was cut into small, uniform pieces, mixed with penne pasta in a pale, creamy sauce. I found a fork and napkin, then set my meal beside Blair’s.

  We sat down across from each other, the bulletproof vests shifting against our torsos as we settled into the plush chairs. The contrast was jarring: fine dining in an empty, immaculate car, both of us still in tactical gear, hands shaking slightly from adrenaline and hunger. I pulled my chair in, the legs scraping softly on the floor. Blair tucked her hair behind her ear, then stabbed her fork into the rice, shoveling the first bite into her mouth. She chewed quickly, swallowing hard, then went back for more.

  I dug into my own meal, spearing a piece of chicken and twirling it with some pasta. The food was hot and filling, but bland. No salt, no spice, just enough to keep us moving. I ate quickly, barely tasting it, focused on getting as much down as possible. Blair did the same, her fork moving in fast, efficient motions. She paused only to wipe her mouth with the napkin, then went back to eating, her shoulders relaxing slightly as the food took the edge off her hunger.

  Halfway through my meal, as I scooped up another forkful of pasta, something caught my eye. A faint flickering in the center of the car, near a decorative alcove where the tables opened up into a small, carpeted space. I set my fork down, the tines clinking against the plastic tray, and pushed my chair back. The legs of the chair scraped softly as I stood. I raised my hand, palm out, signaling Blair to stay seated. She looked up, her brow furrowed.

  I moved forward, stepping around a table and into the open space. The flickering intensified, a shimmer in the air about three feet above the floor. It crackled, then coalesced into a distinct shape. A hologram, projected from a hidden emitter embedded in the ceiling. The image sharpened, taking on the unmistakable outline of Alina. Her dark brown hair fell to her shoulders, the strands rendered in shifting blue light. The shape of her face, the strong cheekbones, the tilt of her chin—every detail was exact, though all tinted in a cold, bluish glow. She stood perfectly still, eyes fixed straight ahead, arms at her sides.

  No sound came from the projection. Blair rose from her chair and walked up behind me, her steps measured. She stopped a few feet away, peering past my shoulder. “Is that… your friend?” she asked, her voice cautious.

  “Yeah,” I whispered, unable to take my eyes off the image. I stepped closer, reaching out with my right hand. My fingers extended, I pressed them into the hologram’s chest. The light distorted, rippling around my skin, but there was no substance. Just a faint resistance, like static. “Alina,” I called, my voice barely more than a breath. The projection didn’t react. It didn’t move, didn’t speak. It stood there, frozen, a perfect image with no life.

  As I shifted my weight forward, the toe of my boot pressed into a subtle seam in the floor. The metal beneath my foot flexed, then snapped with a sharp, metallic sound. I jerked back instinctively, but the outline of the floor segment parted abruptly, the panel beneath me sliding open with brutal speed. The sudden movement yanked the ground out from under me. I tried to leap away, arms flailing for balance, but the panel dropped too fast.

  Blair screamed, lunging forward. She grabbed at my arm, her fingers digging into the fabric of my sleeve, but the momentum pulled us both off balance. Her other hand caught the edge of the opening, but her grip slipped, nails scraping against the smooth metal. We tumbled together into the darkness below, air rushing past our bodies as we fell.

  Panic surged through me, but I forced myself to twist midair, tucking my knees up and turning so that I would hit feet first. Blair’s body spun beside me, her arms windmilling as she tried to control her fall. We crashed onto a metal platform about ten feet below. My boots struck first, but the impact jarred my spine, sending a spike of pain through my back. I toppled sideways, landing hard on my hip. The bulletproof vest absorbed some of the force, but not all of it. Blair landed a split second later, hitting on her side with a loud thud. She let out a pained groan, rolling onto her back, one hand clutching her shoulder.

  Above us, the floor panel slid shut with a heavy clang, sealing us in. Darkness swallowed the space for a moment, then a few dim emergency lights flickered on along the walls, casting a pale glow over the area. We were in a hidden cargo level beneath the dining car. The floor was cold metal, ribbed for traction, and the ceiling was low, crisscrossed with thick support beams. Stacks of large crates lined the perimeter, some marked with faded shipping codes. Heavy cables snaked along the walls, bundled and secured with metal clamps. The faint hum of the train’s engines vibrated through the floor, louder and more insistent than before.

  Blair pushed herself upright, grimacing. She sat up, legs splayed out in front of her, and rubbed her shoulder with slow, deliberate circles. “Are you okay?” she asked, breath coming in short bursts.

  I rolled onto my knees, then forced myself to stand, ignoring the ache in my back. I glanced down, checking for blood or broken bones. “I’ll live,” I muttered. I looked around, taking in the unfamiliar space. “What is this place?”

  Blair climbed to her feet, wincing. She scanned the perimeter, eyes narrowing as she studied the crates and the walls. “Storage? Or something else.” She stepped over a thick cable, moving toward the nearest stack of crates. She squinted at the stenciled letters, then shook her head. “Let’s see if there’s a way out.” She glanced up at the ceiling, but the panel above was sealed tight, no seam visible from this side. The walls were solid, reinforced with vertical girders. There was no ladder, no obvious exit.

  I patted my vest, searching for my baton. It was gone. I scanned the floor, spotting it a few feet away, half-hidden behind a crate. I walked over, stepping carefully over a bundle of wires. I crouched, reached out, and wrapped my fingers around the handle. I checked the length for cracks, then nodded at Blair. “Let’s start looking. We’re not done yet.”

  She swallowed, her throat moving visibly. She glanced upward one last time, then squared her shoulders. “We’ll find a way back up… or maybe forward.” Her voice shook, but she steadied herself, planting her feet apart and flexing her fingers. She wore her hair in a tight ponytail, the strands pulled back from her angular face and exposing the tense line of her neck.

  Together, we began to explore the hidden cargo area. I led, stepping gingerly over the thick cables that snaked along the floor, testing each step for stability. Blair followed, her eyes darting between the crates and the shadows. We checked each stack, searching for any sign of a door, a loose panel, or a gap in the wall. I ran my hand along the cold metal surface of a crate, feeling for hidden seams. Blair crouched to peer under a low platform, then stood and circled around a support beam. We moved methodically, determined to find any path that would lead us closer to Alina—and, hopefully, to answers.

  Chapter 12

  Blairs hand squeezed mine as the car shuddered beneath us, the motion jarring my teeth together for a split second. Her grip was tight, almost desperate, her palm slick against my skin. The overhead lights flickered, casting harsh bands of white and shadow across the narrow train car. The bolted-down seats rattled. I glanced quickly at the crates lining the walls, each one was a dull gray, corners dented, their surfaces scuffed and greasy. Big stenciled numbers marked the sides in black paint. The heavy latches on each crate caught the flickering light, throwing little flashes across the metal. I could see my own reflection, warped and broken, in the nearest latch.

  A metallic snap echoed down the aisle, sharp and loud. I jerked my head toward the sound, just in time to see one of the crate latches pop open, the thick metal tongue springing up. I looked at Blair. Her eyes were wide, pupils blown, lips parted as she sucked in a breath. Another latch released, the noise overlapping with the first. My heart kicked up in my chest. The top of the nearest crate slid sideways, the metal scraping over itself, then tipped and crashed to the floor with a heavy clang. I stepped in front of Blair, my baton already in my hand. I raised it, gripping the rubber handle so hard my knuckles ached.