The Warning

Lena spent the rest of the evening trying to ignore the letter.

She shoved it into her desk drawer, buried it under old notebooks, and told herself—over and over—that she wouldn't go. It was stupid. Dangerous. Probably some kind of prank.

But her mind refused to let it go.

By dinnertime, she had read the letter so many times that the words were burned into her memory. She barely tasted her food as her parents talked in stiff, clipped voices. They hadn't spoken much since last night's argument. Not about anything real, at least.

Her mother sipped her tea, her fingers tapping against the ceramic. "You're quiet tonight."

Lena forced a shrug. "Tired."

Her father glanced up but didn't say anything. He had been doing that a lot lately—watching her like he was waiting for something.

By the time the clock struck eleven, Lena had made her decision.

She was going.

She pulled on her jacket and slipped out through the back door, careful not to make a sound. The air was crisp, the night unusually quiet. Her house sat on the edge of town, not far from the old train station. It used to run years ago, back when the town was busier, but now it was just an abandoned structure, covered in rust and forgotten memories.

Her footsteps felt too loud on the empty streets. Streetlights cast long shadows as she walked, her heart hammering with every step.

By the time she reached the train station, it was 11:57.

The place was eerie at night. The ticket booth was boarded up, the tracks overgrown with weeds. The old platform stretched into darkness, and the faint hum of crickets filled the silence.

She hesitated. Maybe this was a mistake.

Then—footsteps.

Lena spun around, her breath catching.

A figure stepped out of the shadows. A boy, around her age, with dark hair and a wary expression. His hands were stuffed into his jacket pockets, but his posture was tense, like he was ready to run.

"You shouldn't be here," he said quietly.

Lena frowned. "Excuse me?"

The boy glanced around, his eyes scanning the darkness like he expected someone—or something—to be watching. "If you got the letter, that means they know about you."

Her stomach tightened. "Who's 'they'?"

The boy exhaled, shaking his head. "You don't want to find out."

Lena crossed her arms. "Then why send the letter?"

The boy hesitated, then reached into his pocket. He pulled out another envelope—identical to the one she had received.

He held it out to her.

"Read this," he said. "And after that—forget you ever came here."

Lena took the letter, her fingers brushing against the worn paper.

But she already knew.

She wasn't going to forget.

Not now.

Not ever.

She stared at the letter in her hands, her heart pounding. The boy watched her, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of something close to regret. Like he knew she wasn't going to walk away from this.

She swallowed hard. "Who are you?"

The boy hesitated for only a second. "Noah."

No last name. No explanation. Just Noah.

Lena glanced down at the envelope, then back at him. "Did you send the first letter?"

Noah's jaw tensed. "No."

A shiver crawled down her spine. "Then who did?"

Noah shifted his weight, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting someone else to step out of the darkness. "I don't know. But whoever it was… they wanted you here."

Lena clenched her jaw. "Then why tell me to forget about it?"

Noah sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Because once you open that letter, you're in. And trust me—you don't want to be."

Lena's fingers tightened around the envelope. She should walk away. She should rip it up, go home, and pretend none of this ever happened.

But she wouldn't.

Instead, she slid her thumb under the flap and tore it open.

Noah exhaled sharply, like he already knew she would.

Inside was a single slip of paper, just like before. But this time, the message was even shorter.

Midnight wasn't a test. It was a warning.

Lena's blood ran cold.

She looked up, but Noah was already backing away. "You need to leave. Now."

Her voice came out in a whisper. "What does this mean?"

Noah shook his head. "It means they're watching."

The night suddenly felt heavier, the silence sharper.

Lena glanced around, her pulse racing. The train station had been empty when she arrived—hadn't it? But now, the shadows seemed deeper. The air felt charged, like something unseen was pressing in.

A flicker of movement near the tracks caught her eye. A shadow, shifting.

Lena's breath hitched. "Noah—"

But when she turned back, Noah was gone.

The envelope slipped from her fingers, drifting to the ground like a fallen leaf.

She was alone.

Or at least… she hoped she was.