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 can't help but steal another glance at the young woman sitting across from me.

Her eyes are fixated on the outside, just as mine were a few moments prior. Her blonde hair is falling loose from her ponytail, the strands glinting gold as they catch the sunlight. My gaze follows their motion as they whip about her face in the wind.

I'm so entranced by them, I don't notice her gaze shift.

I realise too late that her grey eyes are now on me. She's raised an eyebrow inquisitively at my blatant staring, and I feel an embarrassed flush rise to my cheeks.

But I don't avert my gaze, because that would mean accepting defeat. So instead we silently face off against each other, me fervently hoping she doesn't notice the red on my face.

It's a long minute before I'm forced to look away, her grey eyes seeming to peer right into my soul. I clear my throat as I do, bringing a hand up to push my glasses back onto the bridge of my nose.

I notice the corner of her lips quirk upwards, triumphant. She tries to conceal her glee by schooling her expression back into one of poised unaffectedness, but it's too late.

I can't contain the small chuckle that escapes me.

"Are you laughing at me?" she asks with mock indignation.

"I wouldn't call it so much at you as I would because of you."

She leans forward in her seat, golden hair falling forward in a heap as she does. "Isn't that the same thing?"

"Quite contrary, my lady. One would indicate my amusedness at some sort of fault on your part, while the other my laughing simply because you're amusing." I smile. "And I think we can both agree that I was the one at fault."

She scrunches her nose up in distaste when an unruly lock of hair nearly makes its way into her mouth. She pulls the clear elastic out of her mess of a ponytail and combs her hair out with her fingers.

"How so?" she asks, elastic held between her teeth as she twists her hair back into a knot.

"I thought you noticed my somewhat obvious staring."

"I did," she admits. "But I'm not angry."

"No?"

"I'm kind of flattered, if anything, to have caught your attention," she replies, eyes twinkling.

"How do you know I wasn't staring at the ink smudge on your cheek?" I say, gaging her reaction carefully.

She frowns, confused, and rubs a hand roughly across her face. When it comes away devoid of a stain, she turns towards me. "Ink smudge?"

I burst out laughing, unable to hold it in any longer. Her piercing gaze turns into a glare as her lips twist into an annoyed moue.

"Apologies," I say, wiping an exaggerated tear from my eye. "I saw the opportunity and couldn't resist."

She tries to keep the pout on her face, but gives in with a laugh instead. "I'll get you back for that."

"I look forward to it, my lady."

She lets out a giggle, the sound ringing out like the tinkling of a bell as it fills our small compartment. "What's with all this 'my lady' talk? When were you born, the eighteen hundreds?"

"Considering how long this journey's been taking, I wouldn't be surprised."

She grins. "At this rate, we won't be arriving till tomorrow. But in any case, we might as well get to know each other."

"Is this you admitting you'd like to get to know me?" I ask, voice teasing. But a sliver of hope still escapes my control and shows itself in the way my words waver.

She rolls her eyes, but her lips remain quirked up. She stretches a pink tinted palm towards me. "Don't make me regret it. Call me Mallory."

"Good afternoon, Mallory," I reply, grasping her warm hand in mine as I shake it. I notice her nails are all painted a happy sort of cobalt blue, with the colour chipping at the edges. "I'm Thomas."

"Do you go by anything for short?"

"Well, my mother calls me 'honey' when she wants something from me."

She chokes slightly as she brings her fist up to her mouth to stifle her peal of laughter, but an undignified snort still escapes her. Her eyes widen, mortified, before flying up to meet mine.

But I'm not deterred in the slightest. Instead I brace my hands on my knees as I double over laughing. "Could it be? A woman with a real laugh that's not daintily suppressed by delicate lace handkerchiefs?"

The embarrassment leaves her expression, but her cheeks remain dusted with pink. "I didn't realise I was such a rare commodity."

"Indeed you are. I thought you but a creature of myth!" I say, flinging my hand out in a flourish.

She giggles again, but this time her laugh is more subdued. "I'll make sure to advertise my apparent pricelessness, then. Who knows? Maybe I'll get famous."

"I do hope you won't forget poor old me when you do. I am, after all, the one who enlightened you."

"How could I forget you?" she asks, a proud smile plastered onto her heart-shaped face. "Honey."

I let out another roar of laughter, though this time Mallory accompanies me in my guffawing. We're both momentarily in stitches, clutching at our sides as we attempt to compose ourselves.

When I finally do, I straighten the crimson tie hanging loosely around my collar, and run a hand over the crinkles in my trousers. Mallory seems to register my formal attire as she asks, "What were you in Hampshire for?"

I gesture to the leather briefcase at my feet on reply. "Had a job interview. Think I blew it, though. They took one look at the way I knotted my tie and told me they'd 'call me back'."

She eyes the tie in question, and raises an incredulous eyebrow. "You're a self-sufficient adult who doesn't know how to tie a tie?"

I hold up my hands defensively. "It's harder than it looks!" I grin, pretending to be offended. Mallory still looks incredulous, but eventually relents, shaking her head.

"I'm sure you were great," she says. "Knowing you, you probably charmed their pants off."

My mouth twists wryly to the side. "You think I'm charming?"

I expect her to come up with some indignant retort, but instead she gives me a playful sort of smile. Before I can attempt to decipher it, she stands up, dusting at her lap.

"I'm starving," she says, one arm wrapping itself around her stomach. "What to go get a bite to eat?"

I nod, rising. "It's a date, then."

Mallory tsks at me, her face lighting up with a smile once more. "You shameless flirt."

I take a bow. "Only for you."

"Are you always this forward?" she asks as I slide open the door and step out into the little corridor.

"Probably," I admit, scratching the back of my head. "But people don't usually believe me when I say so. I think it's the glasses."

"I think your glasses are cute."

My mouth falls open ever so slightly, and I make to reply, but my throat is suddenly too dry to form the words. I can't see Mallory's face from here, but her satisfaction at having rendered me speechless is so potent, it's practically tangible.

I can't help but smile to myself. Who would've thought a shitty interview would lead to something like this?

We're walking along the coach to the pantry. It's too narrow for us to walk abreast, so I'm a few paces behind her. Compartments bracket us on either side, and I wonder what sort of secrets each of them contain.

There's another man approaching us from the other direction, so Mallory and I both press ourselves into the walls to make way. He's dressed immaculately, with a pinstriped shirt stretched over his broad shoulders, polished black shoes, and a briefcase clutched in his large hand.

And of course, a properly tied tie.

I can't help but glance down in dismay at my own pathetic appearance. Untucked shirt, tie askew and hair long enough to flop across my forehead.

No wonder they didn't want to hire me.

But I hardly have the chance to wallow in misery when Mallory meets my eye from across the train. The man squeezes past us, muttering rudely under his breath the entire time.

The click of his heels on the ground is almost deafening, and so is the obnoxiously loud ticking of his shiny gold watch. The monotony of it rings in my ears, unbearable. He takes one look back at us as he walks by, and lets out an irritated huff.

Mallory silently motions to the man when his back is turned and rolls her eyes. "What's his problem?" I see her mouth, before shaking her head. "Thank goodness I wasn't stuck with him as a compartment partner."

Her words sink into my bones as I try to absorb them. Her approval of me makes me feel better than I thought it would, and I can feel my heart flutter slightly in my chest.

Maybe today won't be so bad after all.

"You shouldn't be so quick to judge," I say as we approach the pantry car. "Maybe he was just having a tough day."

She scoffs. "Doubtful. I know his type. Thinks they can win over their family's affections with money and silly presents instead of by actually spending any time with them."

Her tone carries a bitter undertone, and curiosity floods my brain with questions. But I know better than to ask. Instead I give her a small smile as she turns towards me, hoping it came out encouraging.

She heaves out a breath as she pushes open the door to the next car. "Enough about him. I'm feeling pizza. It's an acceptable time for lunch, don't you think?"

I raise an eyebrow. "It's only eleven forty nine."

She assumes a challenging stance, hands poised on her hips as she shifts her weight to one leg. "So?"

I can't help but grin. "A woman after my own heart."

Mallory shakes her head again, amused but exasperated. The action sends her hair tumbling across her face again, framing it with strings of woven gold.

I'm still staring at her when we both suddenly freeze.

We hear it before we see it.

A sound. Almost like the ticking of a clock, each tick accompanied by a faint mechanical beep.

I feel a pit of dread form in my stomach. Something is wrong. It must be.

Suddenly, a sharp sound, so high and screechy it pierces through my skull so fast, I hardly have the time to cover my ears with my hands. The sound is unbearable. It seems to ricochet off every surface in the train, giving the sound a metallic note that's reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard. It was all I could hear, all I could even think.

It was taking over.

And then.

A roar. Loud and deep enough to settle into the marrow of my bones. My blood runs cold at the very sound of it, as my body's taken over by an overwhelming sense of panic. Mallory and I both turn around at the noise, just in time to see it.

To see the plume of flames as it barrels toward us, all scarlet heat and red death.

I grip Mallory's hand before my brain can catch up to what's happening. Because surely this isn't real. Surely something like this only happens to people in mystery novels and comic books.

Surely we aren't about to die.

But my disbelief hardly has time to take over. It all becomes too real too soon as the flames engulf us, so suddenly and so hot and white, its over almost as soon as it all began.

The train explodes.

And takes us with it.