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"Get in," Mara said, already on the platform.
I looked at the train. Wrong direction. Wrong time. The LED above the door read 11:53.
"That thing's moving," I said.
"So move faster." She grabbed my jacket and yanked me through the gap. The doors slammed shut behind us, catching the edge of my sleeve. I ripped it free and stumbled into the empty car.
Empty except for her.
And the blood on the floor.
"Whose is that?" I asked.
"Not mine." Mara was already at the far end, checking the next car through the window. "Not yet."
"That's not funny."
"Wasn't a joke." She turned back, and her face was different. No more investigator mask. Just someone who'd been running too long. "Your sister called from inside a door that shouldn't exist. You shot out four hunters' lights instead of putting one in my chest. So now we're both on the wrong side of the city's list, and this train's the only thing still moving after midnight."
"It's 11:53," I said.
"Look again."
I looked at the LED. It still read 11:53. But the timestamp in the corner of the ad screen above the seats said 12:09.
"That's not possible," I said.
"You've been living in a reset hour for six months and that's where you draw the line?" Mara pulled her gun, checked the mag, slapped it back in. "The train's off the grid. Someone rerouted it after midnight, and whoever did it left a trail of blood from here to the depot."
"So we get off."
"Can't. Doors are locked to the line. We're riding this thing until it stops, or until someone stops us."
The train lurched. I grabbed the rail. Mara didn't move.
"You knew," I said. "You knew this train was coming."
"I knew your sister's voice came from a door I couldn't open. I knew the hunters turned around the second you fired. And I knew the only transit line still running after the reset hits is the one the city says doesn't exist." She stepped closer. Close enough I could see the split in her lip from when I'd shoved her into the crates two hours ago. Close enough I could smell gun oil and something sharper. Fear, maybe. Or just exhaustion. "So yeah. I knew. And I also know you're about three seconds from doing something stupid, so let's skip that part and figure out where this thing's going."
"I don't trust you," I said.
"Good. I don't trust you either. But your sister's somewhere under this city, and my partner disappeared on this same line six weeks ago. So unless you've got a better play, sit down and shut up."
I didn't sit.
The train picked up speed. The tunnel lights started strobing past the windows, faster than they should. I could feel the vibration through the floor, the rails screaming under us.
"This isn't normal," I said.
"Nothing about tonight's normal." Mara moved to the door at the front of the car and tried the handle. Locked. She slammed her palm against it. "Come on."
"What are you doing?"
"Checking if we're alone."
I looked through the window into the next car. Dark. No lights, no ads, no LED. Just the faint glow of emergency strips near the floor.
And something moving at the far end.
"Mara," I said.
She was already looking. "I see it."
"What is that?"
"Don't know. But it's coming this way."
The shape moved closer. Human-sized. Wrong posture. It walked like someone who'd forgotten how joints worked.
"We need to get off this train," I said.
"Working on it." Mara kicked the door. Nothing. She kicked it again, and the lock cracked but didn't open. "Help me."
I grabbed the edge and pulled. The door bent but held.
The thing in the next car stopped moving. Then it turned toward us.
No face. Just a smooth surface where the head should be, reflecting the emergency lights like wet glass.
"Jace," Mara said. Her voice was flat. Controlled. The kind of controlled that meant she was about to start shooting. "On three, we hit this door together."
"What about that thing?"
"One problem at a time." She shifted her weight. "One."
The thing pressed its hand against the window. Long fingers. Too many joints.
"Two."
The glass started to crack.
"Three."
We hit the door together. It flew open, and I stumbled through into the next car. Mara came through behind me and slammed it shut. The lock was already broken, but she jammed her knife into the frame anyway.
"That won't hold," I said.
"Doesn't have to hold. Just has to slow it down." She grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the far end of the car. "Keep moving."
We ran. The train tilted, taking a curve too fast, and I hit the wall hard enough to taste copper. Mara kept her feet. She was already at the next door, already working the lock.
"How many of those things are there?" I asked.
"Don't know. I saw two on the platform before we got on. Could be more."
"What are they?"
"What do you think they are?" She got the door open and shoved me through. "They're what happens when someone stays in the reset too long. Or when someone gets pulled out wrong. The city doesn't reset clean, Jace. It leaves pieces behind."
I looked back through the window. The thing was at the door we'd jammed. It didn't try to open it. It just put its hand flat against the glass, and the glass started to dissolve.
"Mara," I said.
She looked. Swore. Pulled me forward.
We went through three more cars. All empty. All dark. The train was still accelerating, the tunnel walls blurring past the windows, and the vibration was getting worse. I could feel it in my teeth now, in my ribs.
"Where the hell is this thing going?" I said.
"I don't know," Mara said. "But we're about to find out."
The train started to slow.
I looked out the window. We were coming into a station. Lights on the platform. Bright, clean, fluorescent. Like the reset never touched it.
The train stopped.
The doors opened.
Mara stepped out first, gun up. I followed.
The platform was empty. No people. No trash. No ads. Just white tile and fluorescent lights and a single sign hanging from the ceiling at the far end.
I walked closer. Mara stayed next to me, close enough our shoulders almost touched. Close enough I could feel the heat coming off her, the tension in every step.
The sign had one word.
BEFORE.
And under it, in smaller letters: 12:07.
"What does that mean?" I asked.
Mara didn't answer. She was staring at something past the sign. A door, set into the far wall. Steel. No handle. Just a keypad and a camera lens above it.
The keypad was lit.
"Someone's still here," she said.
The camera moved. Focused on us.
And then a voice came through the speaker above the door. Low. Flat. Familiar in a way that made my chest go cold.
"Hello, Jace," the voice said. "We've been waiting for