The train eased away from the platform with a faint, almost apologetic lurch.
Most passengers barely registered it. Fingers kept scrolling, heads stayed bowed over screens, eyelids remained heavy against the morning glare filtering through the windows. But Noah Vale felt the hesitation in the rails, the split-second lag in the motors, the tremor that rippled up through the floor and settled, unwelcomed, in his chest.
He lifted his eyes slowly, scanning the carriage the way he once scanned rooftops and alleyways, quietly and thoroughly, without seeming to.
It was an ordinary Tuesday crowd with a young woman in a navy coat gripping the overhead rail, a businessman murmuring into his earpiece, two teenagers sharing earbuds and stifled laughter. Lives in motion, unaware that motion was about to end.
Noah's jaw tightened, he couldn't name the feeling yet, only that it was there, crawling cold along his spine. His instincts, honed by years he no longer talked about, rarely lied.
Across the aisle, a woman steadied herself as the train rounded a gentle curve. Her hand shot out at the last moment, fingers closing around the back of an empty seat. Her dark, wavy hair fell across her face for a second before she pushed it back with calm precision. Pale knuckles, steady breathing, but something in the set of her shoulders betrayed tension she refused to show. She straightened her back, adjusted the strap of her leather bag and pretended the stumble had never happened.
Noah's gaze lingered on her a fraction longer than necessary.
The overhead lights suddenly flickered, once, twice, like a warning no one else noticed.
He gently shifted in his seat. The vibration returned, deeper now, not the familiar rhythm of steel on steel but something mechanical, pressurized and definitely wrong.
Noah stood up decisively.
"Oi, sit down, mate," a voice grumbled behind him.
He didn't answer, he didn't even turn.
The woman across the aisle glanced up then with blue eyes meeting his for the briefest moment. No fear in them, only sharp, sudden awareness, as if she, too, had been waiting for confirmation that the morning had gone sideways. She held his stare long enough for a silent question to pass between them, then looked away.
The explosion came without mercy.
It began beneath the floor, a concussive bloom of heat and pressure that swallowed sound itself. The carriage ruptured mid-stride with metals folding inward like paper. Flames erupted in hungry sheets, devouring seats, bags and even lives.
There was no time for coherent screams. Only the wet thud of bodies, the crystalline shatter of windows and the roar of fire claiming oxygen.
Noah was hurled forward with his shoulder slamming into a seat frame hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. His ever active instinct took over. He immediately rolled and found purchase on a handrail as the world tilted and screamed. His ears were ringing and his vision was tunneling but he still fought to stay conscious amid the smoke.
Then he saw her again.
She was on the floor, pushing up on one elbow, coughing hard as flames raced the aisle toward her. A ceiling panel tore loose and crashed exactly where she'd been a heartbeat earlier.
Noah moved before thinking as he swiftly reached her in three strides, seized her arm, pulled her down and under him as superheated air blasted overhead. She didn't resist, didn't waste breath on questions. She simply moved with him, low, fast and economical. Every shift of his body, she mirrored without hesitation, as though they had rehearsed this dance in some other life.
The fire spread too quickly and maybe unnaturally fast. "Accelerant, It's not an accident." he muttered softly and registered dimly in his memory.
He scanned for exits, for any breach in the collapsing structure, but the train was already surrendering. A second detonation at the rear carriage this time sent a shockwave that buckled the floor beneath them. Screams rose and cut off almost immediately.
Noah then came to an abrupt realization, no one was walking away.
Smoke clawed into his lungs and his skin became blistered with heat. His grip tightened on her arm, reflexive and protective as well.
She looked up at him through the haze. No panic. No blame. Only a quiet, terrible question in her eyes.
'Is this how it ends?'
He had no answer. His throat burned too much for words.
The carriage folded inward with a final, groaning sigh. Flames closed over them like a tide.
And then….nothing.
~~~~~~
Noah's eyes snapped open.
The train hummed softly, exactly as it had minutes….hours? before.
He was seated again, upright and unharmed. Morning light slanted through the intact windows. Passengers murmured, scrolled and even dozed. The air smelled faintly of coffee and metal, not smoke and death.
His heart hammered against his ribs, loud enough that he feared others might hear.
Across the aisle, the woman stood once more, adjusting her bag as the train curved. This time, she didn't stumble, her posture was perfect and controlled.
The digital clock above the door blinked its indifferent red numerals, 8:05 a.m.
Noah stared at it with shallow breaths.
'It was not 8:05 before.' He thought quietly within himself.
The train lurched forward with the same faint and apologetic hesitation.
Deep in his bones, colder than any flame, Noah understood.
They were all going to die again.