The rain had been falling long enough to feel intentional.

Not hard—no drama, no thunder—but steady, patient, as if the city itself were trying to wash something away without attracting attention. The kind of rain that blurred reflections in puddles and turned streetlamps into wavering halos. The kind that made people walk faster and notice less.

Elias Crow noticed everything.

He stood beneath the awning of Marrow Street Station, collar turned up, watching the final passengers scatter into the wet evening. The station clock ticked loudly above him, each second landing with a weight that felt personal. Eight minutes late. That was unusual. Trains were late all the time, but this train—Line K, outbound—wasn’t supposed to be.

When it finally arrived, it did so without announcement. No whistle, no warning bell. Just a low metallic groan as it slid into the platform, lights flickering as though it had traveled a very long way to get here.

Elias frowned.

Only one car.

The doors hissed open. No one stepped out.

After a moment, a conductor leaned from the front window. He was old, sharply dressed, and completely dry.

“Last stop,” the conductor said, his voice echoing oddly. “You getting on or not?”

“I wasn’t waiting for this train,” Elias replied.

The conductor smiled—not kindly. “You were tonight.”

Something in Elias’s chest tightened. He should have walked away. He knew that. Instead, he stepped inside.

The doors closed behind him with finality.

The interior smelled of dust and cold metal, like a museum that had been locked too long. The seats were upholstered in a deep green fabric, frayed at the edges, and the overhead lights hummed faintly. Elias was alone.

The train lurched forward.

“Where does this line go?” Elias called out.

The conductor didn’t turn around. “Depends what you’re missing.”

That answer settled badly.

Elias moved down the aisle, boots echoing. Halfway through the car, he noticed something tucked between two seats—a leather satchel, worn but carefully stitched. It looked old. Intentionally old, like something that had survived because someone had refused to throw it away.

He hesitated, then picked it up.

Inside was a map.

Not a printed one. Hand-drawn. Inked with meticulous precision on yellowed parchment, its edges burned and resealed. The landmarks were unfamiliar—no city names, no borders he recognized—but the geometry was wrong in a way he couldn’t explain. Rivers bent too sharply. Streets looped back on themselves. At the center was a symbol he did recognize.

A compass rose with one extra point.

Elias’s breath caught.

He had seen that symbol once before, years ago, in his father’s study. The night before his father vanished.

“That’s not possible,” Elias muttered.

The train slowed.

Through the windows, the city had changed. Gone were the brick buildings and neon signs. Outside lay a district Elias had never seen—narrow towers leaning toward each other, windows dark, streets empty and glistening like black glass.

The train stopped.

The conductor finally turned. “End of the line.”

“I didn’t say this was my stop.”

“No,” the conductor agreed. “The map did.”

Before Elias could respond, the doors opened.

A gust of cold air swept in, carrying the smell of smoke and saltwater. Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang—deep and irregular, like a warning given too late.

Elias clutched the satchel.

“Wait,” he said. “Who left this?”

The conductor’s eyes flicked to the bag. For the first time, something like caution crossed his face.

“If you’re smart,” he said quietly, “you won’t open it again.”

Then the lights went out.

When they flickered back on, the conductor was gone.

So was the train.

Elias stood alone on a platform that crumbled at the edges into darkness. The rain had stopped, but the air felt heavy, expectant. Ahead, a single street led into the strange district, lit by lamps that burned with a pale, bluish flame.

Behind him, there was nothing.

Elias exhaled slowly, heart hammering.

“Okay,” he said to no one. “Okay.”

He adjusted the satchel on his shoulder and stepped forward, toward the city that wasn’t on any map—except the one that had somehow found its way back to him.

And somewhere, far beneath the streets, something began to move.