4.In Transit

Claine sat still, his body frozen and aching from fear. His breath came shallow, his ears still ringing with the whisper he heard—or thought he heard. The moment stretched endlessly in the dim light of the carriage. Sweat pooled at the nape of his neck, cold and sour. He didn't dare move.

But then, something stirred in him. A final flicker of resolve, of the man he once was. His hand trembled as it reached up, wiping the tears that had unknowingly traced their way down his cheeks.

He couldn't continue like this. This... existence, this endless loop of terror, of not knowing what was real or what was coming next—it was breaking him. No. It had already broken him.

He whispered a quiet prayer to a god he didn't believe in anymore, something about mercy, about release. Then slowly, hesitantly, he opened his eyes.

Nothing.

The seat across from him was empty. No shadowy figure, no red eyes glaring, no presence looming. Just him and the low hum of the train rattling on its tracks.

Claine let out a shaky exhale that almost turned into a sob. Relief crashed into him like a wave. But the relief was short-lived. He had to leave this train. No matter what. If this was death, so be it. He would rather embrace the cold void outside than continue riding endlessly, haunted, uncertain, slowly losing everything that made him himself.

Claine rose, gripping the seat for support. He turned, looked down the length of the carriage, and knew what he had to do. The very last car. The end of the train. That would be his exit.

He started running.

The doors between carriages screamed on their hinges. The moment he stepped through, the sensation changed. The rhythm of the train altered slightly from car to car, the hum different, almost like entering different rooms of a body. He didn't count how many carriages he passed, but each one was a small nightmare in itself.

Some were empty, echoing with phantom laughter. Some were packed with mannequins dressed as passengers, their faces eerily painted on, their heads tilting ever so slightly as he passed. Some were underwater, with fish swimming through, the windows barely holding back the sea. One was upside down.

Claine ran.

He ran until his lungs gave out. Until his feet bled. Until he lost the strength to cry or curse. Time didn't exist anymore. His sense of self unraveled at the seams, and only the goal—the final carriage—kept him together. Maybe days passed. Maybe eternity.

But then…

He saw it.

A brighter glow at the far end of the next carriage. A warm light unlike the others. Not sickly fluorescent, not blood-tinted, not cold and grey. Real sunlight.

Claine's heart soared. His steps quickened. He stumbled and crawled, dragging his broken body toward the door. He pushed it open, and—

There it was.

Home.

Outside the window stretched the familiar skyline of his city. People moved in crowds along sidewalks, cars passed in blurry streams. The sounds of honking, shouting, life—real, actual life—hit him like a lullaby. He was back.

He looked down.

The train had slowed. The wheels groaned. There was a platform here.

Claine stepped toward the open door, chest heaving, eyes wide in wonder.

He smiled. A true smile.

Then he turned, one last time, looking down the long metal spine of the train. He whispered, "Goodbye," and jumped.

Air rushed past him. For one fleeting moment, he felt free.

---

Far away, in a compartment lit by golden filaments and clocks that ticked out of sync, the Conductor sat.

He had been watching.

A soft smile played across his cracked lips, his gloved hands gently drumming against the leather armrest. His eyes were mirrors.

He tilted his head.

"Ah... brave little spark, that one."

He leaned back, laughter bubbling in his throat.

"And here he thought it was the end."

He raised a hand, snapped his fingers.

In the distance, the train began to shift. Tracks bent into new directions. More carriages unfolded like paper origami behind it. New doors creaked open. The engine whistled, a long, mournful note that echoed beyond reality.

The Conductor laughed.

"It's only just beginning."

The train roared onward.

The End.