Chapter 1

The sun was high over Paris. It was a warm day, the kind that made people happy to be outside. Gare de Lyon, one of the biggest train stations in the city, was full of noise and movement. People walked fast with bags in their hands. Some carried flowers or food for a trip. Others pushed suitcases on wheels, the sound of the wheels clicking against the stone floor. It was the start of a holiday weekend, and everyone wanted to leave the city. Trains honked loud horns. Voices shouted over speakers, telling people where to go. The air smelled like coffee, bread, and metal.

Jennifer Trump stood near Platform 12. She was tall, with long brown hair and sharp green eyes. She wore a black jacket and jeans, a small backpack over one shoulder. In her hand was a notebook, and a pen was tucked behind her ear. Jennifer was a journalist. She wrote stories for a big American newspaper, but she lived in Paris now. She liked the city, even if it was loud and busy. Today, she wasn't happy. Her boss had called her that morning. "Go to Bordeaux," he said. "Find out about this company, BioGenesis. People say they're hiding something." Jennifer didn't want to go. She was tired. She had worked all week on other stories. But her boss didn't care. "You're the best," he told her. "Get on the train. Now."

So here she was, waiting for the TGV train to Bordeaux. The TGV was fast, one of the fastest trains in France. It could take you far in just a few hours. Jennifer looked at her watch. It was 11:45 a.m. The train would leave at noon. She had fifteen minutes. She tapped her foot on the ground. She didn't like waiting. She liked moving, doing things. Standing still made her feel stuck.

Around her, people moved like ants. A man in a suit talked loud on his phone. A woman with a baby pushed a stroller. Two kids ran past, laughing, their parents yelling at them to slow down. Jennifer watched them all. She was good at watching people. It was part of her job. She noticed things others didn't. Like the old man sitting on a bench, his hands shaking as he held a cup of tea. Or the teenage girl with purple hair, sitting on her suitcase, looking sad. Jennifer wrote these things in her notebook sometimes. Not today, though. Today, she just wanted to get on the train and go.

She looked up at the big sign above the platform. It said: "TGV 4721 to Bordeaux-Saint-Jean. Departure: 12:00." The train was already there, waiting. It was long and silver, with red stripes on the sides. The doors were open. People climbed inside, finding their seats. Jennifer pulled her ticket from her pocket. Seat 14A, Car 7. She sighed. She hoped it was a window seat. She liked looking out at the world as it passed by.

Not far away, Ken Carpenter stood near the front of the train. He was a big man, with wide shoulders and gray hair. His face was hard, like it had seen too many tough days. He wore a blue uniform with a badge that said "Conductor." Ken had worked on trains for thirty years. He liked the job once. The sound of the wheels on the tracks, the feel of the engine moving—it used to make him feel alive. Now, it just made him tired. He was close to retiring. Maybe one more year, he thought. Then he could leave Paris, leave the trains, and go somewhere quiet.

Ken held a clipboard in his hands. He checked names and numbers, making sure everything was ready. The train had sixteen cars. Over four hundred people would ride it today. That was a lot. Holidays always brought big crowds. Ken didn't mind the people, but he didn't talk to them much. He did his job: kept the train moving, kept it safe. That was all. He didn't need friends or smiles. He just needed to get through the day.

He looked at his watch. 11:50 a.m. Ten minutes until they left. He walked along the train, checking the doors. Everything looked fine. The engine hummed softly. The air smelled like oil and heat. Ken stopped near Car 1, the front car. He saw a worker in an orange vest loading a big metal box into the cargo area. The box had a strange logo on it—a green circle with lines inside, like a maze. Ken frowned. He didn't know what it was. "What's that?" he asked the worker.

The worker shrugged. "Special delivery. Came this morning. Orders from some company in Paris."

"Which company?" Ken asked.

"Didn't say. Just told me to load it fast."

Ken didn't like that. He liked knowing things. But he didn't push it. He nodded and kept walking. The train would leave soon. He had work to do.

Back at Platform 12, Jennifer decided to board. She picked up her backpack and walked to Car 7. The door was wide open. She stepped inside. The car was clean and bright. Rows of seats lined both sides, with a narrow aisle down the middle. People were already sitting, putting bags under seats or on racks above. Jennifer found Seat 14A. It was a window seat. Good, she thought. She sat down and put her backpack on the floor. The seat next to her was empty. She hoped it stayed that way.

She looked out the window. The platform was still busy. People waved to friends or family. A man sold newspapers, shouting about the news. Jennifer pulled out her notebook and flipped it open. She wrote: "March 11, 2025. Gare de Lyon. TGV to Bordeaux. BioGenesis story." She didn't know much about BioGenesis yet. It was a company that made medicine or something like that. Rumors said they were doing secret tests. Bad tests. Jennifer didn't know if it was true. That's why she was going to Bordeaux—to find out.

The train's horn blew loud. Jennifer jumped a little. She looked at her watch. 11:55 a.m. Five minutes left. She leaned back in her seat. The car was filling up. A woman sat across the aisle with a small dog in her lap. A man in a red hat sat a few rows ahead, reading a book. The air felt warm and stuffy. Jennifer opened her window a crack. Fresh air came in. It felt good.

Outside, Ken finished his walk. He climbed into the conductor's cabin at the front of the train. It was a small room with buttons, screens, and a big window looking at the tracks ahead. Another worker, Paul, was there. Paul was young, with messy black hair. He smiled too much, Ken thought.

"Ready, boss?" Paul asked.

Ken grunted. "Yeah. Everything's set."

Paul checked a screen. "Full load today. Four hundred and twelve passengers."

"Great," Ken said. He didn't sound happy. He sat in his chair and looked at the controls. The train was ready to move. He just had to wait for the signal.

Back in Car 7, Jennifer watched the platform. She saw a woman running toward the train. The woman looked strange. She was thin, with pale skin and dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was wet, sticking to her face. She wore a long coat, but it was torn at the sleeve. She stumbled as she ran, like she was drunk or sick. Jennifer frowned. Something wasn't right.

The woman reached Car 7 just as the doors started to close. She banged on the glass. "Let me in!" she yelled. Her voice was weak, scratchy. A worker near the door hesitated, then pressed a button. The door slid open again. The woman fell inside, landing on the floor. People gasped. Jennifer stood up, her notebook still in her hand.

"Are you okay?" a man asked the woman. He was big, with a beard. He bent down to help her.

The woman didn't answer. She coughed hard, her whole body shaking. Blood dripped from her mouth onto the floor. The man stepped back. "She's sick!" he shouted.

Jennifer moved closer. She wanted to see. The woman's eyes were red, like she hadn't slept in days. Her hands twitched. She tried to stand, but her legs gave out. She fell again, hitting her head on a seat. People moved away, scared. A baby started crying. The air felt heavy now, full of fear.

"Stay back!" a woman yelled. It was the lady with the dog. She held the dog tight, her face white.

Jennifer wrote in her notebook: "Sick woman on train. Blood. Panic." She didn't know why, but her heart was beating fast. This wasn't normal. She looked out the window. The platform was almost empty now. The train's horn blew again. The doors closed with a loud hiss.

Ken's radio crackled in the cabin. "TGV 4721, you're clear to go," a voice said.

"Copy," Ken replied. He pushed a lever. The train jerked forward, slow at first, then faster. The wheels squeaked on the tracks. The station started to move past the windows. They were leaving Paris.

In Car 7, the sick woman stopped moving. She lay on the floor, still. The bearded man knelt beside her. "Hey, lady, wake up," he said. He touched her shoulder. Nothing happened. He shook her harder. "Come on!"

Jennifer watched, her pen tight in her hand. The car was quiet now, except for the baby crying. Everyone stared at the woman. Then, her head snapped up. Her eyes were wide, bloodshot. She opened her mouth and screamed—a loud, awful sound that didn't sound human. The bearded man fell back, shocked.

The woman lunged at him. Her teeth sank into his arm. He yelled, trying to push her off. Blood sprayed on the floor. People screamed and ran, tripping over bags and seats. Jennifer dropped her notebook. She backed up, her heart pounding. The train picked up speed, the city blurring outside. The holiday trip to Bordeaux had just begun, but something terrible was starting too.