I'm staring out the window, watching the scenery as it whizzes past the window. The green of the trees and the blue of the sky move by so rapidly, it's all a blur of colour.

I sigh as I glance over at the empty seat across from me. It would've been nice to have some company along the long journey home. But unfortunately, mine seems to be one of the only compartments where there's only one person.

I consider trying to fall asleep. The lull of the engine as it chugs along is vaguely soothing, after all. But before I can pursue that train of thought, I hear the sound of the compartment door sliding open.

A young woman, about my age, enters tentatively. She's holding a small purse, and her hair is all shades of yellow and honey. It shines as it catches the sunlight streaming in through the windows, so bright it seems to glow.

"Hello," she says, gingerly closing the door. "I think this is my seat. Hope you don't mind."

"Oh, no, of course not," I reply, a little too fast to be casual. I hope she doesn't notice.

She smiles gently at my flustered reply, and makes to seat herself across from me. She smooths out her skirt as she does, placing her bag beside her on the seat. She reaches in and takes out her phone, holding it tightly in one hand.

I pretend not to notice her do any of this, though I'm strangely aware of everything she's doing.

I shouldn't be. And yet.

When she finally seems settled, she looks up at me expectantly. I frown a little, slightly confused as to what she wants.

She sticks out a hand. "I'm Mallory."

My eyes widen with understanding as I reach my own hand out to shake hers. An embarrassed flush makes its way up my neck. It's been barely five minutes, and yet I've already manged to embarrass myself. "Thomas."

"Right. Thomas." She clears her throat again and fidgets nervously for a second. She seems to steeling herself for something, though I can't imagine for what.

She stays like that for a few seconds, stock still and motionless. The air around is tense, and I fight the urge to fidget anxiously.

She finally looses a long breath to compose herself, before her eyes flick up to meet mine. "I need to tell you something. Well, a lot of things actually, but we don't have the time for all of it. You may or may not believe me, I'm still not sure. But please, hear me out before you jump to conclusions."

I stare at her, a little stunned. When I finally register she's waiting for me to answer, I give her an awkward smile. "Yeah, of course. What did you wanna talk about?"

She grimaces a little, and her hands clench the fabric of her skirt. "Okay, let's start from the beginning. My name is Mallory Vietta."

My eyes widen. "Wait, Vietta as in-"

"Yes, as in Vietta and Co. Yes, famous company, I'm the heir, blah blah blah. That's not what's important, though."

I let out a gaspy little breath of disbelief. "You're a Vietta, and that isn't the important part?"

She sighs, and her shoulders slump a little bit. "Moving on," she continues. She says it with such resignation that I let the matter of her legacy drop. Though part of me still can't believe that I'm sitting across from the heir to one of the biggest international corporations in the world.

And she actually wants to talk to me.

This day just got a lot more interesting.

"As I was saying, I don't know if you'll believe me when I say this. I half don't believe it myself, but," she inhales deeply, as if bracing herself for the words that will come next. I find myself leaning towards her in suspense too.

"We're stuck in a time loop. And by we, I mean everyone on this train. I don't know why or how, but I know that it's happening, and I seem to be the only one aware of what's going on."

I blink at her blankly. "I'm sorry?"

She visibly deflates, curling in on herself as if the words are costing her. But still, she repeats herself, this time speaking much more slowly. "We are stuck in a time loop. The day goes on as normal until a bomb blows the whole train up and everything resets."

I lean back in my seat, incredulousness scrawled all over my face. "You're joking, right? This is all some sort of a prank."

Mallory sighs heavily, but doesn't seem surprised at my words. Almost as if she was expecting them. "I'm serious. I know it all seems crazy and impossible, but I swear to you it's true."

"Right..." I drawl sceptically.

Her eyes suddenly flash with iron will, her eyes hardening from soft gray clouds to molten steel. "You don't believe me. I can't blame you, because I'd hardly believe myself. But you want to believe me. I know you do, because we've done this before and I saw how tormented you looked."

"Look, Mallory. I'm not sure what your deal is, but if this is some sort of elaborate hoax, then I'm not falling for it."

What she's saying is absolutely insane. Stuff and nonsense and stories ripped out from the pages of a comic book.

Does she seriously expect me to believe her?

She leans forward in her seat, unfazed. "If I can prove to you that we've met in another universe, you'll at least listen?"

I give her a wide eyed stare.

"I don't know what you're playing at," I say, tone cautious. "But..." I curse myself mentally for actually considering this madness. It's so unlike my usual self to even entertain such ideas, I surprise myself.

Something must be off with me today.

"I did promise I'd at least hear you out."

She smiles a little, and the gesture is so sudden and unexpected, I'm thrown off kilter at the sight of it. It's somehow equal parts relieved and nervous and anxious, and something else I can't place.

"Very well. There's only one rule," she says. When I raise an eyebrow, she goes on. "You can't call me a stalker."

I laugh a little. "That hardly seems fair. What if you actually are one?"

She sniffs with disdain. "I assure you, I'm not. You have my word."

"Wait, that's it? There are no other rules? No objectives, no reasoning, nothing?"

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "You'll catch on as we play. Trust me on this. Shall we begin?"

Still more than a little sceptical, I nod.

"Very well." She bites her lip as she considers her words carefully. "Your name is Thomas Armstrong and you live in Adelaide, Brighton."

I reel a little in confusion. "Wait, how did you-"

"Your mom likes to send you embroidered handkerchiefs every Christmas, white ones edged with tiny blue flowers and lace. You're carrying one right now, tucked into the pocket of your vest."

I can feel my jaw drop open. "What the hell?"

Mallory ignores my protests, instead clenching her eyes shut. As if to build up the strength to go on with this strange ordeal.

"You were just at a job interview in Hampshire, which you think went poorly. Your dream job is to work in my dad's company, but you won't accept a position if I offer it to you by because you've got a moral code about earning things."

My eyes are so wide, they practically bulge out of their sockets. "How could you possibly- you are a stalker!"

She suddenly turns to glare at me. "We had one rule, Thomas!"

"Fuck the rules! I want to know how you know all this."

"I already told you. We've talked before. On four different instances actually, but you won't remember any of them because your memory apparently gets wiped every time the timeline resets."

"This is insanity!" I yell.

"It is. But it's also real, Thomas. And it'll keep resetting, and everyone will keep dying, over and over again unless I do something."

"Do you even hear yourself?" I can't contain my exasperation, but still wince slightly when I watch Mallory flinch as if she'd been struck.

But yet again, after a quick look at her phone, her eyes harden and she continues.

"You have a sweet tooth. You like to stash chocolate beside your bed so you can eat them once everyone's asleep. Is that proof enough for you?"

I'm gaping now, shock clearly etched into every feature on my face. I sputter for a few seconds before finally regaining my wits. "This is hardly proof! This is... You're..."

Mallory gets up out of her seat and crosses the narrow distance between us in one measured stride. She kneels before me when she reaches me, and I scramble backwards in confusion.

"You don't know how to tie a tie."

I gasp, my hand flying to the poorly tied knot around my neck. "How? You must be stalking me. There's no other explanation."

She smiles at me gently. "Even if I were stalking you, I wouldn't have been able to find out things like this. These are secrets you shared because I was a stranger, and you thought there would be no repercussions."

I pull my arms to my chest, trying to contain the way my heart seems to br
pounding out of my ribcage. "But-"

"You're a shameless flirt. But people don't think you are because of the glasses."

I gulp in a laboured breath, words drying on my tongue before I can get them out. My thoughts are shrouded in a haze of fear and confusion. Because how could anyone possibly know all these secrets? How could a total stranger know these things about me?

Why does this all seem hauntingly familiar?

She looks up at me with those wide gray eyes framed by sooty black lashes. "Please, Thomas. I know this all seems impossible. I know. But you have to believe me."

"You could just be- you probably-" My logical brain rushes to reach any sort of rational conclusion, but none come to mind. Because something within me tells me she isn't a stalker or a fake. Something compels me to consider the impossibility of it all and that's the strangest thing of all.

But what she's saying can't be true.

It can't.

Right?

Mallory reaches for my arm but I flinch away from her. There's a shred of hurt on her face, but she forces it away. "May I?"

I stare at her, uncomprehending. She nods at my arm in reply.

I'm nervous as I hold it out to her because this is crazy. I'm a fool for even letting her come so close to me.

She holds my arm as lightly as she can, touching me only with the very tips of my fingers. Gently, she turns it over.

I can't stifle my gasp of surprise as I look down. And neither can Mallory apparently, since one of her pale hands flies up to her mouth to cover it.

There, scrawled across my forearm in an all too familiar cursive.

Don't forget Mallory Vietta.

"That's-" I choke. "That's my handwriting. I wrote that. But when- I would've remembered writing something like this."

I can't stop my arm from shaking. "Did you do this?"

It takes Mallory a second to react. But when she does, she gives me a slow shake of the head. "You wrote it. In the last loop. We were about to blow up but you still managed to to do it."

She sinks down further, sliding her legs beside her. She can't hide the disbelief in her voice as she says, "it was such a long shot. I didn't know if it would even work."

I feel like there's a knot in my throat. Like a huge weight pressing down on my chest until I can't talk or think or breathe. Because this, this is up turning my entire understanding of the universe.

Mallory glances at her phone balanced in the seat. She winces as she does, and slowly rises.

"I know it wasn't fair of me to force all this on you. After all, it's my burden, not yours." She sniffs derisively. "I guess I was just hoping that this time would be different."

She picks up her purse and slings it over her shoulder. "I'm sorry I wasted so much of your time. I understand if you think I'm a maniac or a fanatic or... I don't know. I'm just sorry."

I don't answer. I can't answer. My head is spinning so fast, it feels like a whirlwind in my brain.

"Goodbye, Thomas," she whispers as she slips through the doorway.

It's stupid of me to believe in magic, especially coming from a total stranger like her. I know that. There must be a logical explanation. There has to be. Something involving facts and science and not time loops and bombs and all these things that shouldn't make it out of a fantasy novel.

And yet.

"I believe you."

She freezes, her body half out the door already. "What?"

"I believe you," I say again.

She doesn't turn. She just stands there, so very very still. "You...do?"

I stare down at my hands. "I can't explain it. I mean, yeah, the fact that you know all this stuff about me helps. It's a little creepy, but I can't imagine how else you'd know it."

I see her hand grip the doorway, so hard her knuckles turn snow white.

"And this..." I push up my sleeve to see the words written on my skin. The ink has smeared a little, but the words are still legible. They sink into me, into my head until they're all I can hear for a moment.

"But that's not why I believe you. It's just that... Ever since you came in, I've had this feeling that I was missing something. Like a word that's on the tip of my tongue, or something I meant to do but forgot."

She finally turns at that, her eyes swimming in a sea of disbelief. "You're serious?"

I crack a small grin, as if it doesn't feel like my whole has been uprooted. "I am."

Mallory heaves out a sigh, though it's tinged with the beginnings of a sob. A hand moves up to her mouth as if to stifle her relief, but then she gives up and lets her arm drop. "So you'll... You'll help me?"

And though the whirlwind of thoughts still spirals out of control in my head, I choose to push it aside. Because despite my brain protesting, a feeling deep within my gut tells me that this is right. Because something is missing and I need to know what.

Because Mallory needs my help.

I nod.

She struggles to compose herself, hands tucking blonde hair behind her ear and smoothing down the wrinkled fabric of her skirt. "Okay, um. We don't have much time. At eleven forty two, it'll be too late and then there'll be nothing we can do."

I glance down at my watch. Eleven twenty.

"Alright. What's the plan?"

"I-" she bites her lip. "I'm not exactly sure what to do."

"I'd say we alert the authorities. Surely they'd know what to do, right?"

She shakes her head sadly. "I don't think so. I don't think anyone can do this but me."

I open my mouth to protest, but she cuts me off. "And I don't mean that to sound cocky. I've already tried, getting the guards to do something instead of me. It should've been easy work, but they still-" she purses her lips. "They couldn't stop him. They should've been able to, but they couldn't."

"It's still the logical thing to do. If nothing else, they should be able to evacuate everyone," I surprise myself with how calm I sound, considering we're dealing with a matter of life and death.

And not just for us. Everyone on this train may die of we don't do something.

I suppress a shudder.

Standing, I walk towards the door. "We have to tell them," I say when I notice Mallory's hesitation. It makes sense."

"Okay," she relents. "But I- I can't let them get hurt. This is my responsibility."

I nod, though I have no intention of letting her shoulder this burden all by herself. I gently pull her along by the hand. We pass by compartment after compartment, each sealed with their own secrets hidden inside.

"Which one's the one with... You know."

Mallory bites her lip. "It's one in first class. I didn't get a chance to look at the exact seat number, but I could identify it if I saw it."

"First class? That's not good. It's closest to the engine." I stamp down a growing sense of panic. "Look, there!" I exclaim when I catch sight of a guard. He seems young, only about my age, but he's still wearing the familiar burgundy uniform, so I approach him, Mallory in tow.

He gives us a friendly smile as he catches sight of us. "How may I help you?"

I open my mouth to answer, but my throat is suddenly dry. I didn't think about what I'd do once I got here.

"There's something we need to tell you," Mallory interjects from beside me. I throw her a grateful smile.

"We..." she starts, before glancing down. "I don't know how to say this without seeming crazy."

"Go on," the guard prompts. "I'm hardly in a position to judge."

"Well..." she sighs again and chokes slightly on a breath.

"There's a bomb," I say suddenly, when the silence is so saturated with aniticapation, it's palpable.

The guard takes an imperceptible step back. "Pardon?"

This seems to snap Mallory out of her haze. "Someone from first class is planning to blow up the train. I know it seems unbelievable but you have to go check it out. We don't have much time left before-"

"Whoa there, Ma'am. A bomb?"

"Yes. In first class. He's a man, tall and stocky and wearing a striped suit."

He shakes his head slightly. "You're sure about this?"

"Yes!"

His gaze narrows slightly. "And how do you know this?"

Mallory freezes beside me, her rapid flow of words coming to a screeching halt. Because of course he won't believe us if we say that the whole train is stuck in a time loop.

Who would?

I'm an idiot. I should've thought about this before.

"I just... I just do," she stammers.

The guard's features soften as he takes up a more casual position. "Ma'am, I know that it's a long journey, and that you're worried things might go wrong. But I assure you that our security would never let-"

"But you already did," Mallory whispers, dejected. "People are going to die because I'm too weak to stop him and because you won't listen."

The guard shakes his head, almost pityingly. "Okay, let's say I do believe you. What then? I can't storm into a passenger's compartment and accuse him of carrying a bomb. Do you have any proof whatsoever?"

She doesn't reply, but her silence is answer enough.

"Look at this from my point of view. A woman walks in saying that she thinks somebody is carrying an explosive, but won't explain how she knows it. How do you think that looks?"

I blanch at his words. "You think she's involved somehow?"

He holds up his hands. "If what you're saying is true, isn't that the most logical explanation?"

Logical.

Fuck logical.

"Please Ma'am, Sir."

I move to step towards the guard. I don't know whether I mean to punch him or shake him into understanding, but I have to do something. I want to scream at him, make him understand, when it suddenly hits me. When I finally realise how hypocritical I'm being.

Wasn't I just like him a mere few minutes ago?

"If I can be of any service to you, I'd be happy to help," he says with a smile. Though it's now bordering on a grimace.

"It's alright," Mallory says taking a step back. I notice staring at her feet, defeated. "Thank you for your help."

I gape at her. She's just going to let it go? I want to throw myself at the guard and make him get ut. How serious this situation really is. But before I can surge forward, Mallory holds me back, her fingers forming just the lightest of touches on my arm.

The guard nods in acknowledgement before turning around to walk stiffly into the next coach. As soon as he's out of sight, I grab Mallory by the shoulders.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" she snaps. "He obviously wasn't going to believe us. You know as well as I do how insane we sounded just then."

"So what, you're just giving up?"

Mallory shrugs my hands off and presses the heels of her palms to her eyes. "Maybe I am."

"You can't give up! People are counting on us. On you."

"Did it ever occur to you that I didn't ask for any of this? I didn't want people's lives to depend on me!" Her body shudders in a silent sob. "I'm so tired, Thomas. I'm tired of having so much responsibility, and I'm tired of having no one believe anything I say. I just want this to end."

My face falls. "Hey, come on now. Don't say that." I wrap my arms around her, and she lets herself be pulled into my chest. I dimly register that we're standing in the middle of nowhere, but I can't bring myself to care.

"I can't imagine what you've been through," I murmur into her hair. "But this isn't the end. If you give up, you're giving into that man. You'll die, Mallory, and you deserve so much better than that. You're stronger than this. I know it."

"But I'm not! I'm weak and pathetic and I've had so many chances to stop him before, and I never could. What makes this time different?"

Her voice is muffled against the fabric of my shirt.

"Because this time you have me."

It takes a few moments for my words to sink in. But when they do, despite the fact that the odds are stacked up so high against her, despite the fact that her burden is hers to bear alone, despite everything-

She manages to huff out a watery laugh.

"Well, aren't you full of yourself?"

And though her voice is weak and warbling with tears, I hear the tiniest of sparks within it.

A small flash of what she was before this mess.

And that's enough.

"Alright, I'm fine," she says, stepping away from me. She wipes at her eyes with the backs of her hands. "I'm sorry about that. I just- I don't know."

"You don't need to apologize. I understand."

She nods. "How much time do we have left?"

I glance down at my watch, and try not to let the dismay show on my face. "Seven minutes." My eyes meet her own stormy ones. "Do you have a plan?"

She stares at her hands, brows furrowing. "There must be something I missed," she mutters to herself. "Something we can use. Think Mallory, think."

"Can't we just storm into first class and make him switch it off or something?"

She shakes her head. "I already tried that. It won't work."

I can't help looking at my watch again. The knowledge that each tick of the second hand is one step closer to the end is excruciating, and the weight of the situation seems to bear down on my shoulders all at once.

Suddenly, Mallory gasps in front of me, startling me out of my grim reverie. "That's it!" she cries.

"What? What happened?"

"Come on!" she yells over her shoulder, her legs already carrying to the doorway leading to the next carriage. "I'll explain on the way."

I hurry towards her. "What's going on?"

"The first time, you and I were headed to the pantry car when the man passed us by," she says amid pants as we burst past another doorway.

My eyes widen with understanding. "So that would mean-"

"It was just before the bomb exploded, so that would be right about now. I don't know what we could do about it, but he should be here some- There! That's him!"

She points towards a man as we skid to a stop. He's just emerging from the next car over. He's large and built like a wrestler, tweed jacket stretched over his broad shoulders, briefcase in hand.

"It's in there," Mallory says, breathless. "We need to grab his briefcase. That's the bomb."

I realise that the man is steadily approaching us, his long legs carrying him faster than they should. Hardly thinking, I throw open the door to my left and pull Mallory into the compartment along with me, shutting the door behind us.

To my relief, the seats are vacant, not a soul inside but us.

"What do we do?" Mallory asks, eyes wide with both fear and anxiety.

"We need the briefcase, right? So we take it. You distract him while I slip by and grab the case. We can get it to the guard before he even knows what's happening."

She shakes her head. "I'll get the case. I'm smaller so I'll be able to move faster."

"No, it's too dangerous. Let me-"

"This isn't the time to play hero, Thomas. Let me do it. It makes sense. We don't have time to be arguing."

I want to protest, but before I can, Mallory opens the door and shoves me out of it. The action takes me by surprise, so I can't stop myself from stumbling forward.

Right into the path of the man with thr briefcase.

I can't catch my breath, because suddenly I'm staring right into his face, skin lined and stretched taut over his skull.

"Excuse me," he says in a raspy baritone as he tries to push past me. But I throw out an arm before he can.

"Wait!" I scramble for an excuse, anything at all. "You were just at the restaurant, right? What're they serving? Just wanted to know, because I actually have a very sensitive stomach and-"

"I don't know," he growls low in his chest. "Now, if you wouldn't mind." He makes to shoulder past again, but I hold my ground.

"But you must know! You were just there, weren't you? Just tell me what's on the menu for today."

"Leave me the fuck alone, kid," he practically snarls. Spit flies from his mouth and I notice his grip on the briefcase tightens. I feel a repulsed shudder pass through me, but I manage to repress it.

"Language, kind Sir," I say, though I can sense just how furious the man's getting. "This is hardly the place for such crass words."

Where are you, Mallory?

"That's it!" he seethes. His face is red and a vein pulses on his forehead. He looks about ready to murder someone.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared.

Suddenly, a figure darts past us. I can only just about make out a flash of gold before it's running towards where we just came from.

"What-" the man starts, before bellowing with rage. "Come back here, you bitch!"

Mallory.

And looking down at the man's bare hands, I realise she must've managed to grab the case.

I grin.

But my smile is immediately wiped off my face as the man shoves me aside to chase after her. My head hits the wall with a sickening crack as I slam into it.

The world goes out of focus.

My vision swims, bleary, and my knees buckle. But I manage to hold onto the walls with my hands so I don't collapse.

The temptation to slide to the floor and close my eyes is profound. My head throbs where I hit it, and my movements are rough and uncoordinated.

But I can't give up.

Mallory needs me.

People have started pushing out of their compartments hearing all the commotion. One little boy runs straight up to me with his big blue eyes and asks, "Are you okay?"

I open my mouth to answer, but it's as if my tongue is made of sand. I struggle to keep myself upright, hands shaking with exertion to hold up my entire body.

But I manage a step forward.

And then another.

I'm practically stumbling forwards, everything spinning in circles around me. The motion makes me so disoriented, I collapse against a door and have to take a second to collect myself.

In the distance, I hear a yell.

I force myself to keep going, my surroundings blurring into each other until it's all a haze of brown wood and glass. Faster. I need to be faster.

So I run. And to my immense relief, I don't fall immediately. The doorway to my coach looms ahead, and I throw my arms out in front of me so I don't crash into it. My glasses slip off my face as I do so, and I hear them shatter against the floorboards.

I emerge onto the next carriage. One of the doors leading outside is open, flapping violently with the strong wind that whips into the train.

But that's not what makes me pause.

Mallory is clutching the briefcase to her chest, panting as her arms tighten around the leather. But she's not standing there alone. The man looms behind her, one arm painfully tight against her waist.

And the other.

Holding a small object, glinting silver against the milky pale skin of Mallory's throat.

A knife.

My blood runs cold in my veins.

The man grins as he turns, forcing Mallory to stumble along with him. She mouths something to me, but I can't make out what she's saying.

I'm filled with adrenaline as panic takes over my body. How could I have let this happen? I should have insisted that I be the one to take the case. I should've-

There's no time for this.

My heart races as I frantically scan the scene for anything I could use to my advantage. Anything at all.

The man. He's standing with his back to the open door. Maybe I could-

"Take another step and the girl dies."

I realise my foot had already begun to spring into action, but I will it still when I see the man press the blade closer against Mallory's skin.

What do I do what do I do what do I do?

"You brats ruined everything," the man spits out, his tone venomous. "I don't know how you found out, but it doesn't matter. Any second now, it should start-"

A sound cuts him off. A loud monotonous ringing.

Ticking.

Mallory's eyes widen with horror as the man holding her throws his head back and laughs with delight. She tries to thrash against his grip but he digs the hilt of the knife into her throat and she chokes.

I try to move towards him, enraged, but my body doesn't co-operate. I veer sharply to the left as the room spins once again. I feel nauseous, and it's all I can do to keep standing.

"Oh, what's wrong? Did you hurt your head? Well, that's what you get for meddling in affairs that don't concern you," he adds mockingly. "Too bad you failed."

I see Mallory go slack in his grip at that. The hand clawing at the arm around her waist stills as she slumps forward. Her other hand still holding the handle of the case tightly.

She looks up, strands of hair blowing across her face. Her pretty heart shaped face lights up with a faint grin. She mouths something at me again, and this time, I notice.

This time I listen.

"Remember me."

My brows furrow in confusion.

But before I can even process what's happening, Mallory throws her entire weight backwards. The action startles the man, and he loses his footing.

It's as if the scene plays in slow motion before my eyes. I fling myself towards them, but I'm too slow. I can't reach her.

I feel the fear and cold and dread like a pit lodged in my stomach, as I finally finally understand. I understand what she meant with her ambiguous smile. What she meant with those words that sent chills running up and down my spine.

Remember me, she said. Because there won't be a next time.

Because I have to watch, helpless, as their bodies sail through the open door. The sunlight catches in her hair and it glows, brilliant and radiant and so very gold.

She's still smiling.

A scream rips out of my chest as they soar past the lip of the doorway. And then down. Down, down, until they're out of sight, until my eyes can't follow them and I fall to my knees. I go to jump after them but a firm hand on my shoulder stops me before I can.

I stare at the sky, uncomprehending. I look down over the vast lake below, because as fate's cruel twists would have it, the train is going over a bridge, three hundred feet over a stretch of water.

I don't even hear a splash.

I scream again, because it should've been me. Because none of this is fair and she didn't deserve to die. She of all people should've lived to see tomorrow.

She with the hair of honey, with the eyes of billowy storm clouds should've lived.

Mallory.

The guard from earlier is saying something, but I can't hear him over the ringing in my ears. I can't hear or see or breathe, because there's something stirring within my chest, pressing down until I feel like I'm underwater. My head throbs as I rest it on the cool floor.

I hear a ticking, and for a single panicked second, I think the man's still here. But it's only my own watch. I manage to weakly catch a glance of the dial.

Eleven fifty.

And I'm still alive.

But Mallory isn't, and it just isn't right, and I think the grief crushes me under its overwhelming weight because lights flash in and out of my vision as it fades to black.

Dimly, I hear commotion behind me. Someone's trying to shake me awake, but I'm so tired and I want to sleep.

The train doesn't explode.

But what happened was far far worse. And this time, there will be no more do overs.

This is the end.

But I'll never forget.