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.

"Nothing to be done, I suppose," I murmur to myself as I lean my elbow against the window railing. I notice a pasture of lovely blue flowers fly by, and I resist the urge to reach a hand out to try and touch it, far away as it is.

I'm settling into the rhythm of the train when I feel my eyes start to fall shut. The purr of the engine and the gentle rocking of the train as it chugs along the tracks try their best to lull me to sleep.

And they almost succeed too.

Almost.

Because just as I start to doze off, the door to my compartment slams open.

I jerk upright with a small gasp, and push my now askew glasses back up to my nose.

I blearily take in the new presence. A young woman, maybe my age, with bright golden hair falling messily out of her ponytail.

She gasps as she sees me, and I try to remember what exactly I'm wearing without looking down at myself. Surely it's not that bad.

"Thomas," she whispers, stumbling forwards, before falling to her knees in front of me.

I scramble back in confusion, tucking my arms and legs towards my chest so my extremes aren't in range of the strange woman on the floor. "How do you know my name?"

She frowns slightly at my question, but doesn't reply, instead letting out a deep breath of relief. "I can't believe you're- that we're alive. I thought for sure that we-"

"I'm sorry?" I ask, thoroughly baffled. "Do I know you?"

The woman sighs, seemingly exasperated, before slowly rising to her feet. "This isn't the time for jokes, Thomas. We need to figure out what happened."

I relax slightly when she settles down in her seat, but my muscles are still tense when I say, "I'm sorry, my lady, but I do think you've got the wrong person."

She glances at me drily before her eyes drift towards the window. Her hair is glinting gold as it catches the sunlight, while the breeze whips loose strands of it about her face.

"This isn't funny," she says, sounding utterly exhausted. "Please don't- I need to-"

My brows knit together as I reach for my leather briefcase. "I apologise if I sound brash, but I have no idea what you're talking about. Have we met before?"

The woman blows a strand of hair out of her face and freezes me with a glower. "I don't know what game you're playing at here, but whatever. I'll play along."

Her gaze roves up and down my hunched form before turning back to the outside. "Your name is Thomas. You're coming from a job interview you think you failed at because you don't know how to tie a tie. You're a total flirt but people don't think you are because of your glasses. Now can we please-"

She trails off as she registers my expression, wide eyed and jaw hanging open with disbelief.

"How did you know all that?" I whisper.

She almost groans with frustration, bringing her wrists up to her temples as she squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. "You told me."

I struggle to contain my residual shock. "I'm certain I did not."

"Of course you did! It's barely been fifteen minutes! You told me, and then I said I was hungry, and then we were headed to the pantry to get pizza when all of a sudden a goddamn bomb blew us up."

I continue staring at her slack-jawed, wondering if this is all just some elaborate hoax. Some prank I had accidentally agreed to be a part of.

"What the fuck are you on about?"

"What do you mean? You were right there with me the whole time!"

I let out a derisive snort. "I think i'd remember if I was."

Now she's the one staring at me, her piercing grey eyes filled with waves of tumult. "You're serious?"

I hold her heavy gaze. "I've been nothing but serious since you arrived. You're the one going on about bombs and pizzas and my life." My eyebrows furrow as I arrive at a possible conclusion. "Are you stalking me?"

She doesn't answer, but instead stands all of a sudden, shaking her head. "No, you're messing with me. This is all just some scheme that you-" Her voice cracks. "This can't be real."

I let out a sigh as I try to store away this whole ordeal in the back of my mind to recount to my mother once I get home. At least I can get a good laugh out of it.

"I assure you that it is. You must have the wrong person. If you'd like, I'd be happy to escort you back to your cabin."

But the woman doesn't seem to be listening to me. Instead she paces along the length of the compartment, muttering something under her breath.

She turns towards me, and I think she's about to yell at me again when she freezes. She must catch a glimpse of the genuine confusion swirling within my eyes, as she takes one step back, then another.

"This can't be happening," she whispers. "You're messing with me."

Before I can ask her to kindly leave me in peace, she's surging towards me again.

"What's the time?" she asks, tone almost manic.

I frown, not wanting to carry on conversing with this strange woman. But when I see the look in her eyes, my gaze flits down to the watch around my wrist.

"Eleven forty-two," I reply, hoping she'll get the message and leave. But she continues standing there, frozen in what seems like shock.

"Forty-two? How could it be- What day is it?"

I groan out loud, adhering my gaze firmly onto the blue sky outside. "Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

When I'm met with no reply, I'm tempted to simply call for a guard. But when I turn towards the woman again, I still.

She's crying.

Not violent sobbing, but silent tears of fear and confusion that stream down her face as her head hangs low.

I can't help but take pity on her.

"October the nineteenth."

She sucks in a stuttering gasp, one hand flying to her mouth to conceal it. She opens her mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a choked sort of whimper.

"It can't be..." she whispers again. "Thomas, don't you remember?"

I've had enough.

"Remember what? You and I have never even met before! For the last time, you have got the wrong person!"

The woman stands stock still, hands shaking at her sides as she attempts to close them into fists. Her hair is now a cloud framing her face, and her eyes are the grey of storm clouds.

Trembling, she sits back down, curling her hands around her waist. "I'm sorry..." she says, so softly I have to strain my ears to hear it. "I must have been... mistaken?"

In the moment she sounds so forlorn, I can't help my sympathetic sigh. I silently pull out a clean handkerchief from my vest pocket and hold it out to her.

She stares at it for a second before reaching a hand out to take it. Her lips part in surprise as she clutches it with both hands.

I wince slightly at her expression. "Sorry about the frills. My mom likes to send me embroidered ones every Christmas."

She sniffs before huffing out a watery laugh. "I didn't mean to judge. It's just... a delicate lace handkerchief."

"Yeah, probably not what you'd expect from a twenty-three year old man."

"No, that's not it. I just-" she cuts herself off with a sigh. "Nevermind."

I decide not to question it, just like I decide not to comment on her very strange behaviour from earlier. Maybe she's just having a bad day. After all, I've no right to judge.

She wipes at her eyes again, leaving salty wet streaks across her cheeks. "I'm sorry again about earlier. I must have... I don't know, blacked out or something. Maybe I hallucinated it all."

"Hallucinated what exactly?" I ask, leaning forward on my elbows.

"Well, that you and I were talking. And then we went to get some lunch when suddenly everything exploded."

"Must've been some dream," I comment, pulling my tie off my neck and undoing my collar. It's much too hot in here even without all the extra garments. "Considering you managed to guess everything about me right."

She smiles slightly, but still glances down at her hands with a disturbed look on her face. "Yeah..."

"Who knows? Maybe you're secretly a psychic. Maybe that's your double life."

The worry on her face eases a little, but her smile remains as faint as it was. "Maybe I am. Maybe I know all your secrets."

I laugh and point a finger at her. "I knew you were a stalker!" I silently hope she doesn't take my quip to heart.

She huffs out a small laugh, and I beam, proud to have coaxed it out of her. But then she sighs and her lips start to form around another apology. But before she can get the words out, I cut her off.

"Don't apologise. Really, it's fine. We all have bad days sometimes."

She stares at me blankly, before her long sooty lashes flutter down to her cheeks as she averts her gaze. "Yeah... A bad day..."

I frown as I see her retract into herself again, her smile sliding off her face as she fists her hands into her lap. For reasons I can't fathom, I feel obliged to try and make her feel a little better.

"So? What's your secret?"

Her eyes snap up to mine, eyes stormy and silver. "What?"

"The secret double lives of strangers on trains. Sounds like it could be a movie, doesn't it? So what's your secret, my lady? Unless you are, in fact, a psychic."

"Mallory."

I blink. "Pardon?"

"Enough with the 'my lady' talk. My name's Mallory."

"Lady Mallory. Has a nice ring to it. Oh, is that it? That you're secretly a noblewoman from a distant land where you lay in your palace decked in jewels?"

She doesn't smile, but she looses a long breath, as if forcing all the tension to drain out of her system. "I suppose you could say that. But also a very lonely noblewoman whose parents were much too busy for her childish antics."

She sounds resigned as she says this. Not angry, but more than that. Disappointed.

I flounder for a second, struggling to come up with the right response. Something charming and witty that'll reward me with a flash of another smile.

"What about you?" she asks, breaking me out of my

"What about me?"

"You know. What's your secret?"

"Ah," I say, settling black down into the plush cloth covering the seat. "If I told you that, it would hardly be a secret, now would it?"

She raises an incredulous eyebrow. "You made me tell you mine."

"Touche."

"Well?"

"Alright, fine." I heave out a dramatic sigh, as if I'm relieving my soul of some great burden. "I'm actually secretly a stand up comedian who performs at every bars in Brighton on Fridays for fre-"

"Shut up."

"I'm serious! Well, maybe not free free, but you get the-"

"No, I'm serious. Shut up."

I huff, indignant. "Well, you could stand to be a little more polit-"

"Do you hear that?" Mallory's standing up from her seat, her face tense and her eyes wide with horror.

"Hear what?"

"Listen."

For once, I do as I'm told, holding my breath in anticipation as I try to hear whatever Mallory's talking about. For a second, all there is is the screech of the train as it speeds along the tracks, and my heartbeat as it pounds hard enough to be audible.

But there.

A sound. So faint, I wouldn't have caught it if I didn't know to be listening.

A ticking. Fast and rhythmic. Almost like a strange sort of mechanical clock.

I steal a glance at Mallory, who's pressed a palm against her mouth to stifle another sob. She stumbles back, murmuring something under her breath all the while.

I turn to face her fully, my body tense and alert. "Mallory?"

She doesn't answer, but instead lets out a desolate wail while her hands scrabble against the rails covering the window.

She chokes on a breath. "Thomas, we- we have to get out of here."

"What's going on?"

She doesn't hear me but instead throws herself against the bars desperately. I wince as her shoulder crashes into it, but she does it again as if she doesn't even feel the pain.

I rush towards her and plant my hands onto her shoulders. Every ounce of fight suddenly drains out of her body as she slumps against me.

"Mallory, what's going on?"

"What's the time?"

I frown. "What?"

"The time, Thomas!"

I glance down at my watch. "Eleven fifty two."

She clenches her fists into my shirt and leans her forehead against my chest, her body wracked with sobs. "I'm sorry, Thomas. I'm so sorry."

I ease an arm around her, clutching her delicately to me. "Whatever are you apologizing for?"

She closes her eyes, and her body stills as she whispers, "the bomb."

Before I can ask her more, a sharp sound fills the air, so high and screechy it pierces through my skull. I hardly have the time to cover my ears.

Mallory is still motionless against me, and suddenly, a feeling I haven't felt in a long while starts to worm it's way into my heart.

Terror.

"Mallory?" I say again, if only for confirmation that I'm not imagining it all.

She doesn't respond.

But then, a roar. Loud and deep enough to set my bones rattling in their joints.

My brain struggles to catch up to what's happening. Surely all this is just an elaborate prank, a hoax to make us think this is all real.

Surely we aren't about to die.

But we are, and it becomes all too real as a plume of orange-red bursts into our compartment, shattering glass as it barrels towards us.

It's so sudden, and so hot and white, its over almost as soon as it all began.

The train explodes, with my eyes wide with horror and Mallory still clutched in my arms.

The train explodes.

And I can't help but scream.