Chapter 8 · The Second Eve

The train entered the thirteenth station without slowing.

That was the first thing Eve understood when the dark outside the windows changed. The carriage did not jolt. No brakes screamed. No wheels struck a junction. The midnight train simply crossed from motion into stillness, as if the world had closed its hand around it.

Then the doors opened.

White light poured through the gap.

Eve raised one arm to shield her eyes. The light was not bright in the ordinary way. It had no warmth, no source, no direction. It filled the carriage like milk poured into black water, bleaching the dead passengers, the brass poles, the blood drying beneath Kieran's ribs.

Every passenger stood at once.

Their joints clicked in unison.

Sora made a strangled sound. “Don’t look at them.”

Too late.

The passengers turned toward Eve, their faces smooth and pale beneath the carriage lamps. Their mouths opened, and the same childhood name spilled from every throat.

“Maribel Calder.”

The name struck harder than a slap.

Eve’s fingers tightened around the silver rail. Her pulse stumbled. Somewhere inside the white, stolen thirteen minutes, a child’s voice laughed. Bare feet slapped against summer pavement.